Near Death Experience
by Fell The Tempest
Summary: The die is cast, and a warrior's fate is decided. After a horrible wound, he begins to fade... but this is one unsung hero who won't fade quietly into the night. A kind gesture, a little love, and a good heart can bring about miracles...
1. Near Death Experience

Time seemed slow and thick, almost tangible. The world seemed to move sluggishly around him, like bittersweet honey sliding into a melting pot. He could taste blood between his teeth, the coppery sensation gripping him like a vice. He could hear voices, distantly; they cried out for him, and swarmed in and out of focus like bees. He grasped at the words that escaped from their lips, bu his bleary mind couldn't keep up with their incessant chatter. His knees felt weak; his arms lay uselessly beside him, unable to muster more than the occasional twitch. Oh, did they_ burn_.

As a sharp steel object flashed towards his head, he tried to throw up his arms in a desperate attempt of saving his own life. However, they once again ceased to respond, the earth's pull more than they could bear in their damaged state. Despite his strong will to live, the blade nonetheless descended in a deadly arc, before impaling itself into his heart. He grasped the handle of the blade in futility, eyes widening in realization as he felt the razor-sharp blade shift within his chest.

He would die this night.

Vibrant hues flashed before his eyes, as they fluttered across the night sky above him. A full moon hung overhead, bathing him in its light. He felt strangely at peace, given the violent nature of his end. The stars seemed to shine more brightly than ever before; or maybe that was just his dying mind playing tricks on him. He chuckled softly, despite the pain in his chest at each motion.

The voices faded into the distance, along with the smell of fire and the gentle throbbing of feet upon cobblestone. The specters that had once surrounded him retreated into the night, backs turned, confident in their movement.

At least it was over. He gazed over the blade that penetrated his chest, and with a sense of finality, willed himself to move. His shaking hands slowly gripped its handle, and without so much as a pained cry, he pulled it from his chest. Blood dripped steadily from the blade, and had ceased to flow from the wound itself. It dripped slowly onto his mutilated chest, each drip leaving him unable to look away. With an almost tender affection, he carefully lay the blade across his chest, wrapping both hands around it. Like a vixen, it had stolen his heart; and yet, like a lover, it would carry him gently into the afterlife.

He felt wetness kiss his cheek; though few clouds dotted the midnight sky, he could feel the night growing colder, then warmer. A gentle breeze wafted over him, and raindrops began to fall, pitter-pattering to the earth, washing away the blood that stained the earth beneath him.

And then, a voice. "Little one..."

His vision dimmed; his breaths came in slow rasps, each one pounding in his sensitive ears. And yet, the voice silenced everything else. He blinked, his vision returning with startling clarity. He attempted to turn his head, to look at the source of the voice; however, his weakened body wouldn't respond. He knew it wouldn't be long now.

"I... am here." He replied, tongue numb in his mouth. It took all of his effort to release those three words; but, with their passing, he felt himself grow stronger, as if released from a heavy burden. He coughed once, and blood slowly began to trail downward from his lips, as it washed away with the rainwater.

"As am I." The voice replied. It sounded familiar; like a long-lost friend, it wrapped itself around his mind, anchoring him to the earth. In the distance, he saw a strangely dressed figure approaching, lithe feet not even making the pools of water and blood ripple with each step.

As it approached, he realized that the figure was undoubtedly female; she was clothed completely in dark colors, a black cloak of sorts billowing around her in the rain. Her step was graceful and defined, yet incredibly athletic; he desperately tried to see her face through the falling rain, but no matter how hard he tried, his gaze could not penetrate her cowl.

She knelt beside him, and ran her hands over his injuries. She gasped as her fingers brushed against the wound that would soon bring his demise, and then inspected the dagger that was loosely gripped beneath his folded hands. Her fingers probed at the blood-soaked blade, and she recoiled stiffly as his hand shifted beneath hers. Quickly, she pulled her hood back and looked into his eyes, disbelieving that someone could survive such torment.

Her face possessed an animalistic beauty, literally; a blue-furred muzzle framed a beautiful, graceful, yet saddened complexion. Dark-blue hair, soaked by the evening rain, hung heavily about her shoulders, illuminated like a halo by the dying light of the stars. She shifted, kneeling and placing his head upon her lap. He winced, ribs protesting the movement, but found himself incapable of resisting. Her gentle hands coaxed him towards her, and she held his hand, squeezing it tightly between her soaked fingers.

His eyes met hers, and he felt a surge of compassion. That this woman - a total stranger, inhuman nonetheless, whom he had never met before - would care about him. He found his gaze unable to shift away from the cerulean jewels that captivated his last moments on earth, and as they gazed into each others eyes, he did the one thing she least expected.

He smiled weakly, and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek, staining it with his own lifeblood. Tears slowly fell from her horrified eyes and rolled onto his face, but he continued smiling, as though the bearer of some great, secret gift.

"Don't cry, beautiful... I'm going to a happier place." He whispered hoarsely. Slowly, his gaze faded away, until only her silhouette was visible against the moonlight.

"At least I now know..." he whispered with his final breath, "what an angel looks like." The slow rise and fall of his chest ceased, and with it, his life.

She choked back a sob as the she watched light leave his eyes, leaving two dull orbs in its place. She shook him violently, but he wouldn't respond to her touch. The heat of his body slowly began to bleed away in the chill of the night, and she gripped him tighter, refusing to let go.

She blinked away her tears, and leaned forward, tenderly kissing him upon the lips.

It was as if the entire universe had seen her plight, and decided to react. An intense blue light began to radiate from where her lips had met his. She watched in shocked silence as the light traveled along his entire form, consuming his entire body, from head to toe. It seemed to grow stronger with each passing second, the light becoming almost unbearable to look at. Her instincts screamed at her to run away, but she grit her teeth and held the man tighter; whatever would happen next, she would stand by him. His body would come to no more harm tonight.

As suddenly as it had began, the magic before her eyes ended. The man began breathing calmly, as though sleeping. As his chest began slowly rising and falling, unburdened by his injuries, her eyes widened in shock. She ran her hands over his naked chest, and finding no wound, cried out in relief. She ran her fingers through his hair short, blond hair, enjoying the warmth of his body once more.

For the next few minutes, she could only sob as she held the man's slowly recovering form in her arms. He leaned into her touch, which she returned in earnest. Thankfully, it was still early enough in the morning that no one had ventured into the streets and happened upon them. She pulled the cowl of her cloak over her ears, taking in a shuddering breath. If anyone had found them... she winced as fear settled into her gut. She bowed and mouthed an unspoken prayer, so as not to wake the man that slept beneath her.

It was only then that she realized the rain had ceased. As if seeing through new eyes, she gazed upon her surroundings. In the distance, she saw the sun rising above the horizon, bringing with it the promise of a new day. A rooster's crow penetrated the silence; the once-depressing rain that had permeated the night air now pooled beneath her feet, and reflected the sun's rays, causing the street to shine beautifully. All of the man's lost blood had washed away with the storm, as well as its scent. She deeply inhaled, fresh ozone filling her senses and clearing her head.

Her eyes returned to the still form of the man that had so affected her, and she whispered, "Nxod A jun ei A vocc ad celo, udt ei jmacot rosuijo öei bdon." _When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew._

Her gaze returned to the horizon, and as the gentle light of the sun bathed the street - and the man she held - in a perfect, golden hue, she smiled softly.


	2. The Harbingers

**(Naruto's Mind)**

_His eyes were kissed with blackness. It was a kind of blackness that consumed the soul, its harsh grip knowing not the reprieve of life. Harsh winds drove icy fingers through his short blond hair as he fell ever downwards. Where gravity would lead him, even he couldn't fathom. His haunted eyes were half-lidded, and his body spun limply with the wind, nature's fleeting whims determining his course. The sharp whistling of the wind in his ears and the rustling of shredded fabric were the only sounds to penetrate the silence of his existence._

_He had been falling for what seemed like a lifetime. Fear, surprise and confusion had at one time became a cocktail of deadly emotions that burned within his throat. Where was he? How did he get here? These questions had died long ago, as he resigned himself to whatever end fate had in mind. Often times, he would simply count the passing seconds, or reminisce of his past. Brief, unexplained flashes of memory - a vision of a pair of cerulean eyes, being the most prevalent among them - came to him, his only companions as he spiraled endlessly into the abyss._

_Not for the first time in his short life of 17 years, he felt truly and completely alone._

_His musings were interrupted as he caught sight of something amidst the blackness, rushing towards him at a breakneck pace. Using techniques honed through years of training, he channeled chakra to his limbs and braced himself for impact, shutting his eyes tightly and gritting his teeth. Seconds ticked by, haphazardly marked by the quickened thumping of his heart._

_However, the impact never came. Sky-blue eyes slowly cracked open in apprehension. White tile flooring, like that within a mansion, rested beneath his prone form. It was icy-cold to the touch, bitterly so, yet a blessing for one who hadn't stood on solid ground in ages. As he slowly climbed to his feet, he noticed that the absolute darkness had receded; looking up, he spotted a decadent crystal chandelier, which hung gracefully above his head like a silent observer. Beneath its fiery glow, he could gratefully feel his strength returning._

_Although the veil of darkness that once consumed him had been pushed back, it still lingered in the distance, surrounding him from all directions. He felt like a bird within a cage; he could move around within the cage itself, but no hope of escape existed._

_From the veil emerged a thin tendril of shadow. It stretched outwards and seemed to almost glide through the air, like a bird of prey._

_Curious, the blond reached forward and touched it. With a silent hiss, he pulled back his hand - the tips of his fingers felt as though they had been electrocuted with cold, and the skin was coated in a thin layer of frost. He stepped further away from the veil of shadows, his guard renewed._

_He tensed as his sensitive ears detected a soft hissing coming from behind. He pivoted about his rear foot with a flourish and crouched; like a tiger, he was poised to ferociously leap upon his aggressors, rending them limb from limb with his savage strength._

_Tentacles of shadow – colossal in both size and number – emerged from the cover of darkness, writhing like coiled snakes. As one tendril would touch another, they would join together, as though they were not individual entities but part of a much greater whole. He was unable to look away from the sight; he was possessed by a morbid fascination, which grew with each passing second. The tendrils convulsed, forming a large gray-black sphere that floated inches above the ground._

_The orb of shadow slowly hovered towards him, its sheer size dominating the room. As it grew closer to the center of the room, it began expanding; he could feel it draining away the surrounding warmth and light like a parasite. Thinking fast, he drew one of his knives and threw it at the sphere before it could consume any more of his safe haven. The sphere abruptly imploded upon itself, disintegrating into a pool of tar-like liquid which smeared upon the once-flawless tiled floor._

_From the liquid emerged strange creatures. The creatures were made of shadow, gray and faceless. With each step they took towards him, they would bend and sway as though buffeted by an invisible wind. Their footfalls upon the bleached-white tile beneath him echoed in the surrounding darkness like the cries of dying men._

_With every second, the mysterious shadows grew closer, weaving a tight circle around him. He observed them calmly, waiting for an opening to strike. He scarcely had room to breathe, let alone fight, and he was quick to realize this; his muscles tensed, and his heart pounded in anticipation like a war drum. A bead of sweat slowly dripped from his chin, and hit the ground beneath him with a soft _plink_._

_Suddenly, the pounding of their feet stopped. It was as if life itself had left the world; once again, unbreakable silence graced his ears. The all-consuming shadows seemed to take a brief respite, and within the depths of his mind, he tentatively considered doing the same. He was_ so _tired... And yet, he couldn't let his guard down. In the distance, he heard a bestial roar; his resolve quaked beneath it like brittle glass, and panic once again held him in its deadly vice._

_No sooner had fear wormed its way into his mind than one of the specters lunged at him. He quickly stepped aside and kneed it in its 'stomach', only to wince as a burning sensation filled his leg. He hobbled backwards as the appendage gave way beneath him, numbness spreading from where he touched the specter. He cursed, trying to work feeling back into his numbed limb._

_"Why... did you kill them?" His attention was drawn to the speaker: the creature that had touched him earlier. The spirit pounced again, and he barely managed to dive out of harm's way. The shade's vicious attack had completely shredded the sleeve of his jacket, narrowly missing the vulnerable flesh of his arm. He tore away the loose fabric and unsheathed a hidden knife from the remains of his sleeve, brandishing it defensively. He felt a surge of confidence as the familiar knife kissed his palm; surely, with a weapon, his odds of survival would be that much greater._

_"Why did you take them from me!" The spirit rasped. It hunched over, as though burdened with a lifetime of guilt and depression. Pieces of tar bled away, pooling on the floor, and the nondescript shadow began taking shape._

_Upon its shoulders, now resided the head of an old man. The elder's skin was creased with time; his haunted, empty eyes bored deeply into the blond man's soul, who took a step backwards in shock. His new-found confidence shattered, he tentatively dropped the knife to the floor._

_He shook his head slowly, and swallowed to clear his dry throat. "I... don't know what you are talking about," he began. Immediately, he knew his answer to be a mistake; the elderly man's eyes glowed red with power, and the other spirits around him shifted in agitation._

_"I have done nothing wrong!" The blond man continued, firm resolve flirting with the chilling grip of fear inside his heart._

_"Do not deny me this!" The old man replied, raising his cane aggressively. His aged face bore a malicious frown, and his thick eyebrows furrowed in rage._

_The blond-haired man shook his head in disbelief, and refused to respond. Words of his own self-defense felt like thick molasses in his throat, and dared not loose a careless whisper. Abruptly, the ghosts that once passively observed the fight charged forward with reckless abandon. He felt a drawn-out, burning pain as the spirits penetrated his defense from all sides; he felt as though the very life was being sucked out of him._

_"Who are you! Why are you doing this!" He cried out. He thrashed beneath their grip, using every working body part to inflict as much pain on his attackers as he could. It was only his sheer mental fortitude keeping him alive at this point; had he given in to their wicked hands, he would have been devoured long ago._

_"We..." the old man whispered, "are the clamorous harbingers of blood and death, Naruto." He rapped his cane upon the stone beneath his feet, and suddenly the demons retreated. Taking advantage of the lull in combat, the blond man attempted to crawl away, only to shudder and collapse under his own weight. Though not visibly damaged, saved for rips in his clothing, his limbs had long since lost their strength. And still, he pressed forward, climbing to his knees. Coughing once, he stood shakily, hair matted with sweat, eyes wide as adrenaline blazed like liquid fire, pulsing through his veins._

_"Your blood, impudent child, shall sate our thirst!" The elder cackled, his voice sounding as if from the depths of hell itself. His once-empty eyes became pools of smoldering lava; his teeth sharpened to points, and his flesh rippled with chaotic vigor. His spine snapped in several places as he stood tall, each crack sending shivers down the blond man's spine. The elder's skin began to crack and bleed, before burning away; his grin became more feral, and his hair splayed about his shoulders. The air very around him vibrated with power._

_The blond man could only stare in shocked silence as the beast descended upon him..._


	3. Krysalis

His hands blindly groped at the pressure on his chest in a panicked fervor. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his temples throbbed loudly with each beat of his heart. In the haze that cloaked his mind, he quickly set up, panic driving his broken body into action.

His efforts did not reward him. As soon as he shifted, he felt a sharp tug on his ribs, and he hissed as pain drove through him like a rusty nail. With a strangled cough, he collapsed onto his back. His probing hands revealed that his entire torso was encased within a cocoon of cloth bandages, which remained dry despite the thin film of sweat that coated his sore muscles.

He quickly glanced over his body for other signs of injury. Aside from the bandages that criss-crossed his torso, his right arm and leg were both secured with makeshift splints. He could feel his head throbbing, and even the tiniest flicker of light sent his eyes into protest. Was he concussed? He diligently rolled off of his makeshift bedding – consisting of a thick sleeping bag and a few worn pillows – and cracked open his eyes. He squinted as salty tears flooded his vision. Yeah, he was definitely concussed. He rubbed the tears away with his good arm, and slowly re-opened his eyes, giving them time to adjust to the midday lighting.

It was with a sense of awe that he observed his surroundings. The simple perfection of nature, he had never seen like_ this_ before. He lay within a cave wrought of unnaturally smooth stone, as if carved by the gods' gentle hands themselves. A crackling fire in the cave's center cast warmth and comfort in all directions, enticing to both the eye and the body.

Small, multicolored crystals blossomed like flowers from the cave's innermost walls, their vibrant colors adding to the cave's peaceful, yet exotic aura. In this sanctuary, he felt at peace, for what felt like the first time in ages.

"Beautiful…" he whispered. He shrugged away the discomfort that plagued his limbs, and with a muffled grunt, stood shakily. He nearly lost his balance on his first attempt, but his hands reached out and caught the edge of a rough, wooden crate. A cursory peak under the lid revealed that it held very useful supplies – food, ammunition and medicines, as well as clothing – that surely belonged to the owner of the cave. Realizing that he was naked, save for the bandages that did little to preserve his modesty, he grabbed a pair of thick sweat pants and drew them up to his waist, cinching the drawstring tightly.

Naruto, stiff from the movement and unable to make it back into his bedroll, hobbled over to the fire, and threw a nearby log into its hungry depths. He slowly worked feeling back into his aching limbs, and stared into the fire, lost in thought. It wasn't long until sleep silently claimed his troubled mind.

He awoke several hours later, the brilliant light of the fire having died to a soft glow. He sighed in contentment, the lack of light a much-needed respite for his sore eyes. He felt… better. Not completely healed, per se, but the roaring in his mind had faded to dull throbbing, like waves crashing upon a distant shore. It was nighttime outside the cave, and the shrill cries of crickets eased his tired mind into a state of relaxation.

He didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten there, but he had to remain calm. Despite his exhaustion, the lessons he learned as an orphaned child remained fresh and clear in his mind. He needed to keep his wits about him; in unfamiliar territory, preparation was key to survival.

Would the cave's host prove to be a friend or an enemy? Naruto's swift treatment and consciousness were a good indicator of his host's intentions, but he had learned never to trust so quickly. For all he knew, his captor could be hoping to deceive or possibly kill him at a later time. Having a weapon on hand, especially one that could be easily concealed, would be a good way to defend himself.

That thought brought him to his first order of business: recovering his lost gear. Whoever had healed him had also taken his clothes and weapons away. While he was unable to use a kunai effectively in combat due to his injuries, a sharp knife had many uses in everyday tasks, and was also excellent for intimidation. It would be especially useful if he could catch his 'host' off-guard.

He stood – more fluidly than before – and trudged over to the supply crate. With any luck, his weapons would be stored away here…

He sifted through the crate's contents quickly, being careful not to agitate his injuries or smear blood upon the wood. He wouldn't hold the element of surprise if his captor knew he might have a weapon. Time was on his side; the fire had almost died, and the light from the outside was almost nonexistent. The sun had probably set by now, giving his actions the cover of darkness.

As he gripped a kunai tightly in his probing hand, memories of his brush with death bombarded his conscious mind. He shivered involuntarily, the knife dropping to the floor, a sharp _screech_ echoing around him as cold steel met stone . His hands pawed at the bandages wrapping around his chest, and he forced himself to relax, his ragged breathing slowing.

"You… shouldn't be up," a soft voice whispered. Naruto tensed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Where was it coming from? It seemed to bounce around the cave – behind! In a fluid movement, he retrieved the fallen kunai and pivoted on his rear foot, the steel blade glinting in the light of the dying fire as it soared through the air.

His ears were met with silence, and a sense of dread filled him. The expected sound of steel-hitting-flesh was missing. Even if the knife had missed, it still would have hit the stone, giving off a distinct metallic ringing. This led him to three conclusions, none of which were favorable. The first was that his target had caught the kunai. Whoever it was had thorough combat training, enough to catch a kunai being thrown at high velocity by a ninja. Even Naruto's enhanced senses could barely make sense of the cave; the dim flickering lights, coupled with the lack of outside lighting, laced the entire cavern in shadow. He could only rely on hearing – which was much easier said than done, especially given his current condition – which lead to his second conclusion: his opponent had excellent night vision.

But what made the situation even worse, was the knowledge that he was now without a weapon. Without a weapon, he was borderline useless. He dared not make any sudden movements or engage in taijutsu, for fear of aggravating his wounds, and he hadn't been able to access his chakra since he had awoken. Perhaps it was the side effect of some drug?

"Relax," whispered the voice. Naruto blinked in confusion, as he realized that it belonged to a woman.

"Relax? I don't know where I am, or how I got here, or, for that matter, who _you_ are. And you're telling me to relax?" Naruto demanded, his voice gravelly from disuse. He coughed violently, and immediately clapped a hand to his ribs, as blood began to blossom through the thick bandages. His eyes detected movement, and he remained in a firm fighting stance despite the agony lancing through his torso. "Show yourself!"

"I will reveal myself to you in time, brave one." The feminine voice replied. His kunai appeared from the darkness of the cave and levitated towards him slowly. He couldn't see chakra strings – was this some sort of trick? The steel blade hovered before him, and he quickly snatched it out of the air, hands gripping it tightly as though worried it would float away again.

"It's an offering of trust. You must understand that I don't mean you any harm… quite the opposite, in fact. I've been watching you for quite some time. You're an… interesting individual, Naruto Uzumaki." The voice paused for a moment.

"Go back to your bed. Your wounds haven't fully healed, nor will they if you insist on fighting." At those words, Naruto growled in agitation, but lowered the kunai. On one hand, they made sense; on the other, he was Naruto Uzumaki. He didn't take orders from just _anybody, _especially not someone with the audacity to hold him against his will.

"Just who do you think you are?" He exclaimed.

"Someone who cares." Replied the voice, its gentle tone soothing the ringing in his ears. He sighed, and begrudgingly lowered his defenses.

"Alright… I'll trust you. For now." Naruto mumbled, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. As if he really had a choice in the matter…

"Good. As a sign of our trust, I need you to do me a favor." His eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion. There was always a catch; he'd learned this the hard way, time and time again.

"…What would you have me do?"

"Close your eyes." The voice whispered, and he obeyed, albeit with a sense of uncertainty. In that moment, despite his initial wariness, he felt... complete. Despite his lack of awareness, it was as if someone had opened his mind for the first time; he could _feel_ his surroundings intimately. He could hear his own heart beating, and the soft whisper of his breath tickling his ears.

Then, he heard footsteps. Soft, light – a woman, judging by the gait. Barefoot. Approaching from behind.

He felt hands caressing injured shoulder, and yet he felt no pain; her touch was as refreshing as ice water. He leaned into her hands, a rumbling rising within his chest. Absentmindedly, he realized that he was purring.

The woman giggled softly, her song as sweet as spring music. He could feel his aching muscles relaxing, his heartbeat slowing. He felt her firm breasts press into his back as she wrapped her hands around his waist. She held him tightly, but comfortably; her hair brushed against the back of his neck sensually, and he felt a surge of emotion in his heart. He tried to speak, but the words were caught in his throat.

Then, his gaze was captured by the blindfold she held. He blinked, before deadpanning, "I don't suppose you want me to tell you how ridiculous of an idea this is?"

He could feel her posture shift, becoming more rigid. It was as if their trance had broken, and the happiness of the moment was crushed by a swift return to a cold, hard reality. Her voice, though still radiant, was tinted with hints of frustration and disappointment.

"You're unguarded, with or without your sight. You can't fight properly, you can't run, and your weapon might as well be a toothpick for all the good it will do you. Not only am I in much better condition than you are, but I have a distinct advantage: we're in my home. I know the surrounding territory like the back of my hand. You, on the other hand, don't even know where you are." He began to retort, but bit his tongue as her arms wrapped around him again, carefully avoiding his worst injuries.

"Accept it. If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have been rid of you already."

He shrugged her arms away, crossing them over his muscular chest. As sweet as her gestures were, he didn't need to be reminded of his less-than-favorable situation. It made him feel… helpless. Weak. Memories of his early academy days began to replay in his head, sobering his mood further.

"…Why the blindfold then?" He questioned.

"I wish to keep my identity a secret. We all have secrets, things that we like to hide. Some are bigger than others… much bigger. Isn't that right, Naruto?"

He flinched, his mind assaulted with sensations he could barely understand._ Fire - Burning - Rubble - Blood in the streets - Hundreds dead - Weaklings, all of them - Burning - The wind tastes of ashes and rotting flesh - A young boy crying in the street as the corpse of his mother burns before his eyes - __Burning -  
_

_Kyuubi._

Naruto snapped himself out of his reverie, and she gripped his shoulder tightly, concerned. His confused gaze hardened, and he wrenched himself away from her grasp.

"…Right then." He cleared his throat loudly. "Point taken."

He closed his eyes as she pulled the strip of cloth towards him, and felt the soft kiss of linen as the she wound it around his head. He could feel her tying a small knot: easy to untie should she need to, but secure enough that the cloth wouldn't fall away. He grimaced. The knot was tied pretty far back, and his shoulder didn't have a full range of motion yet. He'd likely be wearing it for a while.

"Alright, I've done you a favor. Now it's your turn," he said. Silence met his demand, leaving him frustrated. "I can't make it back to my bed like this. I can't see it, I don't even know where it is right now," he pointed out. If her sigh was any indication, she had conceded the point.

Immediately, her delicate hands wrapped themselves around Naruto's torso, and she shifted underneath his good arm, supporting his weak side. Together, and with a little bit of awkward stumbling, they managed to shuffle back to Naruto's makeshift bed. He lay down on the sleeping bag, his sore limbs enjoying the minimal comfort immensely. His adrenaline high had worn off, leaving his eyes heavy and his mind numb. Despite his weariness, though, he had one more question to ask before he succumbed to sleep's embrace.

"What is your name?" he asked. He heard the rustling of cloth, and felt someone's lips brush against his forehead.

"…Call me Krystal."

Sleep claimed him once again.


	4. Birth and Rebirth

His nose twitched, as the powerful aroma of cooking meat gently awoke him. The smell burned at his nostrils and caused his head to pound, but the hunger pains in his stomach were much worse than his headache. He hadn't eaten in… well, he didn't know how long it had been since he'd eaten. At least a few days, if his stomach's monstrous growling was anything to go by.

Naruto eased himself into a sitting position, grunting with the effort. He felt his ribs twinge slightly, but they hurt nowhere near as much as the previous night. "Wow… I must have been worse off than I thought," he mused.

"You nearly died." Naruto visibly flinched, and nearly had a heart attack; he didn't sense Krystal at all, yet she was sitting by his bedside.

He wasn't used to being surprised. When others wanted to catch him with his guard down, he made it his business to know ahead of time and prepare. Her stealth… unnerved him.

He had a sudden temptation to tear the blindfold away – and he knew that he could, with a little effort – but he held himself back. Krystal had been kind to him, and hadn't asked for anything in return, other than for him to respect her privacy. He couldn't bring himself to violate her trust.

"I've prepared breakfast, if you'd like stew…" Naruto realized that she was still talking to him, and he'd completely missed her words. His mind had wandered for a little while – it was probably his concussion acting up. If he wasn't paying attention, his thoughts would turn fleeting and he'd spend the next few days staring into empty space. Not exactly a productive lifestyle.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not very hungry right now." His response was a curt slap to the head. He yelped like a child at the unexpected contact.

"Just because you're crippled, doesn't mean I won't hit you. Shut up and eat. You need your strength." He heard her shift forward, and a dense weight landed upon his lap. He reached forward as if to grasp it, but his hand fumbled, and his thumb dipped into scalding hot water_. _He hissed pulled away his hand, nearly spilling the bowl of soup all over his bandages.

"A forceful one, aren't you?" He griped, shaking his burned hand at the wrist.

He could feel her smirk. "Better than a stubborn dumbass."

He chuckled heartily, a gesture that she returned.

"It's only been a week, and you're already sitting up on your own. By all rights, you shouldn't be well enough to roll over, let alone move at all." She continued. Her gentle voice carried mixed tones of disbelief, frustration, and… something else. Worry, perhaps?

"I get that a lot," Naruto replied, playing off his surprise with a facade of nonchalance. A _week? _ An entire week had gone by already? He wasn't quite sure how to handle the news.

For him to be asleep for nearly a week straight, he could only imagine how bad his condition must have been.

He should have felt happy at his second chance at life, but instead, he felt… hollow. Empty. Though his near- death was far from a painless experience, he felt as though his life finally had closure. He had spent his childhood enduring the darker side of humanity, and even years into his adulthood, he had little reprieve. After a lifetime of struggling to survive amidst a world of chaos and heartbreak, he felt as though he had no purpose, no future…

Guilt wracked his conscience, as he realized how stupid and careless he had been. Throwing his life into the hands of hostiles with weapons was tantamount to suicide. While his actions weren't impulsive by any means, and his mindset had been hardened by betrayal, time and time again, he still felt as though his moment of weakness had confirmed all of their words. _Demon. Killer. Weak. Worthless…_

…and if even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, on some level he was truly scared as he realized just how close he'd come to death's doors. The longest he'd ever been in a hospital for was three days; that stay was after a certain _bastard _shoved a fistful of _lightning_ through his heart. His tenant, though full of stinging complaints, had completely healed Naruto by the time his allotted hospital time had ended.

For him to be unconscious for nearly a week straight, he could only imagine how close he had brushed against death's cold, clammy fingers.

"Come on, eat." commanded Krystal. Sighing, Naruto lazily spooned some of the now-cooled stew into his mouth. He blinked in surprise as heaven kissed his tongue.

"Wow… this is really good." He muttered, savoring each little bite. He felt elated; it was impossible to be in such low spirits with such a wondrous meal before him. Krystal grunted in dismissal, helping herself to a quick breakfast as well.

"It gets the job done," she replied. "It's nothing special."

"On the contrary," Naruto retorted, "It's excellent. You're a better cook than I'll ever be."

Krystal blushed lightly under his praise, though he couldn't see it. She cleared her throat in embarrassment, and the two lapsed into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the stifled clacking of silverware on clay.

"Did you know that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they cook?" He inquired, rubbing his delightfully full stomach.

"Wow, _really?_"He could almost _feel_ her eyes rolling in his direction. Judging by her tone, she thought he was full of himself. He scoffed childishly.

"Yeah. The ingredients you use, the flavor of the dish…" he trailed off. She snorted at his ridiculous claim, but didn't say anything else.

"You're independent, but very dependable. You possess honed instincts that are seldom proven wrong. You're compassionate, even to strangers. You've also been living on your own for quite some time, possibly since childhood." Naruto stated. Krystal blinked in surprise, not expecting anything remotely true.

"What makes you say that?"

"It was in the stew. Judging by the taste, the ingredients are organic and fresh, which means you've taken the time out of your daily routine to locate and harvest them yourself. Not only that, you anticipated feeding me and prepared twice as much as you normally would. That shows me that you've got a good heart."

"Most people don't know how to cook properly. Travelers usually eat salted meats or pre-packaged rations, and yet you've made something from hand-picked ingredients. Judging by the temperature of this cave, I'd say that it's about… mid-morning?" Naruto stated, in between mouthfuls of soup. "To have found the ingredients and picked just the right ones in such a short time frame, you must know the area very well. You also knew just the right amount of spice and meat to use, as well as how long the stew would take to cook properly. You must have had to cook for yourself for a long time. Necessity breeds skill; ergo, you have been alone for some time."

"Woah..." She whispered, still taken aback by the blond's deductive reasoning. "And I thought I was smart."

"I'm not smart," replied Naruto, "I'm observant. Big difference."

"You're joking, right? If there were people like you back then…" The words – delicately laced with fear and regret - died in her throat. Naruto frowned; he could _feel _something. It was as though an intangible weight had set itself upon them.

"Back then?" He softly parroted, gently pressing her to continue. However, his efforts were both wasted and unwanted; Krystal refused to talk. He sighed, nursing the bowl between his hands.

It was the way she'd said it. Her voice – one which, minutes earlier, sounded of sweet music - now whispered a quiet, mourning hymn. Their conversation took an unmistakably dark turn; he didn't need to see her face to understand that she was suffering. The tremors in her voice, the agitated rustle of cloth: these cues were little drops of paint, hinting at a much larger picture.

The blond man felt a twinge of sympathy in his heart. _Back then…_ It was as though the happiness was being sucked out of the very air around them. Even his bowl of soup felt colder somehow, the clay stinging his hands as if coated in ice. He set it aside, clasping both of his hands together on his lap, as though praying in forgiveness to an unseen god.

"I… understand." He began. "I shouldn't have asked. Forget I said anything."

Krystal stood, her feet gently tapping the smooth stone beneath them. "I've got to go… do something." She murmured, her tender voice strangely choked. Naruto nodded. stony-faced; it was a poor attempt at a lie, but he wasn't going to pick away at her closely-guarded secrets. If she wanted to talk, she would; if not…

"I'll be here."

Her feet softly padded away, and the blond man was left in silent darkness once again.


	5. Natural Barriers

He brought a hand to his chest, tracing the thick scar that marred the skin over his heart, a reminder of his close brush with death. It was one of many scars that marred the flesh of his torso, and although it was not the biggest, it was certainly the most noticeable. Dried blood caked its edges, bringing the detailed mark to life. He pulled his hand away, only to realize that the tip of his finger had a thin film of blood on it. "Great, I opened it up again…" he muttered, wiping the drops of his lifeblood off onto his pants.

It had been two days since he had first woken up, and thankfully his healing ability was becoming functional again. Whereas his heart was once completely destroyed by a descending madman's kunai, now only a shallow cut remained on his chest. The pain had receded, too. All in all, he was in a great mood.

"So, tell me about yourself." The first days of hearty food and companionship had done wonders for Naruto's mind and healing body. For the first time in ages, he felt completely comfortable, and relaxed around a total stranger. He eased himself onto his back, arms loosely folded behind his head. Krystal, who still had yet to finish her dinner, gave him a funny look, only to realize that he couldn't see her. She sighed and returned to her stew.

"No point in it. You'll be on your way in a few days, if your freakish recovery rate is anything to go by," she replied, in between mouthfuls. Krystal wasn't the most graceful eater, but then again, she didn't need to be.

"Alright, put it this way." Naruto began, "I'm sitting here with nothing to do all day. I'd read, but I can't exactly do that right now." He pointed at his blindfold and chuckled. "Humor me. I don't bite." A wicked smirk adorned his face. "Much."

"What's there to tell?" She questioned amiably, picking at her stew. "I live in this cave. I saved your ass. When you're better, you'll return to your village." The blond man sat up quickly, the pain in his ribs having faded to a dull twinge.

Naruto dismissed her claim with a casual wave. "Nonsense. You've done more for me in one week than most have in my entire lifetime, Krystal. I owe you a life-debt."

"You don't owe me anything," she stammered, "much less a life debt. That's a big commitment, not one to be made lightly."

"Who says I'm making it lightly?" Naruto questioned. "I'm alive, aren't I? And it's because of you that I'm alive, right?"

Krystal hesitantly nodded. "Yeah… I guess."

"Then it's settled." Naruto exclaimed. "I, Uzumaki Naruto, pledge myself into a life-debt with you. I'll be by your side until the debt is fulfilled." He gave a mock-salute.

"…Right then." Krystal replied, emotionlessly. Once again, oppressive silence reigned.

Naruto pondered Krystal's near-silence. Reasonably, people are social creatures. Krystal had confirmed his speculations: that she had been living on her own for quite a long time. Any other person in her situation would be desperate for companionship, for a friendly face and good conversation. However, every time he tried to earn her trust, it seemed as though he would be stopped, dead in his tracks. It was as if she had erected barriers around herself. He felt them, ever present, like a river, roaring between them. He wanted to know his savior better, but with those barriers up… well, he'd progress as quickly as watching grass grow.

It wasn't as if he hadn't had experience with breaking barriers before. His whole life had been spent in one futile attempt to break down the barriers of those so hostile to him. The skills he'd learned – to understand and communicate with others – would really help break her of her silence. He just hoped they would be enough.

"So… since you're about as forthcoming with your past as you are with your looks, how about we play a game?" questioned Naruto, mischief filling his voice. Krystal rolled her eyes, but acquiesced.

"Sure. Whatever it takes to shut you up."

"You have to answer honestly, or not at all."

"Whatever it takes, remember?"

Naruto's sly grin only widened. "Alright, fair enough. It's called the Question Game. Here are the rules: we take turns. You ask a question, I ask a question. Since you're so _excited_ to play, you go first."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Krystal asked, the corner of her mouth perking up, hinting at a barely concealed smile.

"Yes," replied Naruto, "but only when I'm asleep." He chuckled heartily. "That was a waste of a question. Go ahead and take another turn."

"…You're an odd one, you know that?" Krystal teased. Naruto's laughter slowly died within his throat. He stroked the stubble on his chin with one hand, deep in thought.

"So I've been told," Naruto stated, his voice once again filled with mirth. "Then again, I suppose that we're all a little bit odd, aren't we?"

The blond man gestured about the cave. "I mean, look at this place. You've got me blindfolded, tied up with bandages, in a cave in the middle of the woods, far away from civilization. I'm shirtless, and you've been watching me while I sleep for the past week. One can't help but wonder if there's another reason you brought me here." He snickered.

Krystal blinked owlishly, not understanding.

'_What other reason-?'_ a furious blush burned her cheeks. "Um…" Her eyes glanced over his chest and travel downward to his_ well toned abdominal muscles contracting with a primal grace, barely hidden by the bandages that wound around his torso- "_No, not…! What I mean to say is- um…"

Naruto's snickering turned into full blown laughter as her stuttering worsened. Suddenly, he stopped and coughed hoarsely, a hand quickly grabbing his chest. He bent over and shuddered as a quick burst of pain filled his abdomen. Blood seeped between his teeth, and he quickly wiped the blood away with his forearm.

Krystal jumped to her feet and pushed him back onto the bed. "Relax. You need your strength, you're still in recovery!" She exclaimed, annoyed. "I just patched you up; don't mess up all of my hard work."

Naruto shrugged her grip away, but nonetheless settled into the soft padding beneath him. "Laughter is the best medicine," he replied softly, his bloodstained teeth giving him a feral, wild look. '_It helps more than you could ever know.' _His grin slowly faded, to be replaced by a soft frown, and the two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

_The rain… it was endless. The chill cut him to the bone. The hunger… it gnawed at him like a sewer rat. He needed something to eat. Anything. Even scraps. They were disgusting, but he'd make due. There were worse things than going hungry for a night or two. _

'_A life without laughter… that would be a life not worth living.' A young boy thought, as he took shelter under a street lamp…_

"…Is everything alright?" Krystal asked, her voice casual. She frowned.

"No, no, it's fine…" protested Naruto, his smile obviously forced. "Just remembering the past, is all." As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he had just done himself in.

"Answer honestly, or not at all." Krystal briskly replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Krystal couldn't see his eyes, but his body language told another story entirely. He was tense, anxious. He turned away from her, trying vainly to hide his grimace.

"I would… rather not answer that question. Physically, yes, I'm fine. And I did tell the truth; I am thinking of things that happened, but I'd rather not share them. They're not good table conversation." He explained, each word rolling off of his tongue uncertainly. He absently ran a hand over one of the many scars that criss-crossed his abdomen, an action that didn't go unnoticed by his companion.

"Huh…" Krystal shrugged. "Alright, at least you're being honest with me." She paused briefly. "Go ahead, ask a question."

"Why do you want me to wear this blindfold?" He inquired, tugging at its edges. "Not that I'm upset with you or anything, I'm just curious. If your face is half as beautiful as your voice, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to see it."

Krystal blushed lightly, her heart fluttering lightly in her chest. She cleared her throat and forced her rampant emotions away, before replying, "There are some things that are best left unknown, at least for the time being. But, to give you the simple version… you're a danger to me, just by being here. We're complete opposites, you and I." Her voice ended on a serious note. Naruto nodded, his interest perked further by her bold claim.

"Now then," Krystal continued, "I believe that it's my turn?" Naruto smiled. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

"Why are you acting this way?" She inquired, her tone suspicious.

"What do you mean?" Naruto asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Why are you being so… nice?" She replied. "Surely you want something in return."

"Huh?" Naruto asked, confused. "You saved my _life_. I don't know about you, but in my book, anyone who does that gets some _serious_ points."

Krystal frowned, doubt plaguing her mind. '_I need to think on this…'_

"It's getting late," Krystal said, as the light within the cave began dying. "I've got to get firewood for the evening, before it gets too dark outside."

Naruto felt his eyes grow heavy, and with a yawn, pulled himself into his sleeping bag. "Alright… goodnight, Krystal."

Krystal grunted. "If… you need anything, just call my name. I'll be here if you need me." She quietly walked away, her sensitive ears soon greeted with the sound of light snoring.

She silently traveled through the winding path that led out of the cave. Dimly lit by the starlight, and concealed behind a natural waterfall, it was nearly impossible to see from a distance. Only upon close examination would an experienced tracker be able to see signs of a nearby dwelling. Since her nest was in such an untouched place, for the most part, Krystal had been able to live in relative peace.

Naruto was only half-right, when he guessed that she had been living on her own for a long time. Krystal gracefully vaulted herself onto a rocky ledge and peered down at the nearby village, glowing brightly with its evening fire. Her eyes took in the bright flares that seemed to give the village its own natural glow, and she paused. She wasn't entirely alone; she had _them._

Crickets softly chirped in the late summer evening. The stars twinkled brightly, majestically bathing her in slivers of light. Her waterfall roared softly in the distance, the sound bringing her comfort. Every night, she would look upon this beautiful sight; and at the same time, she would be reminded of the vermin that lived within such a beautiful place. Rats, all of them… scurrying about their daily lives, stripping the beauty from the world so that they might live another day.

A lifetime of observing the villagers had taught her to stay away from their affairs. Time and time again, she had witnessed unspeakable horrors occur within the village. Younglings scavenging for food. Abuse. Innocent bloodshed. Experimentation on their own cubs. Men destroying nature – and even life itself – for profit. Such was the way of the village. The way of men.

They were everything she was not, and for that, she hated them. When they traveled near her dwelling, she would either conceal herself or scare them way. Even the _sight_ of a human would fill her with an unspeakable rage and disgust. And yet… this man, this… _Naruto_, had not done so. Was there something… different about him? Why did his face haunt her thoughts, and his voice penetrate her dreams? Why could she not bring herself to throw him over the waterfall? His kind deserved as much. No matter how many times she asked herself these questions, her heart left her with no answers.

"How could one such as you… be one of them?" She whispered, her voice gently caressed by the cool evening winds.


	6. Sight

Morning came, bringing with it the scent of autumn and the sound of leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. The blonde's nose twitched in the cool damp cave, as awareness slowly returned. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, sleep clouding his mind.

"Mmm… what timeissit?" He mumbled, his face buried into his pillow.

It was with great frustration that sleep eluded him. He growled and rolled out of the sleeping bag, his feet landing heavily on the icy floor beneath. He gasped in surprise. It wasn't the chill of the thick stone that had startled him; rather, it was the absence of pain in his limbs. Naruto stood and quickly stretched his legs, rotating them back and forth. No pain!

'About time!' He thought, a shit-eating grin plastering itself on his face. He stretched further, his back popping loudly, and moaned. Either his healing ability had decided to come back, or he'd simply been asleep longer than he'd thought. It didn't matter to him, either way. The ache in his body was nearly gone. Days of waiting had finally bore fruit; no longer would he be confined to his makeshift bed of the past two weeks.

Of course, now that his body was working (even if it wasn't completely healed), his first order of business was to explore his surroundings.

This was easier said than done. Without his sight, leaving the cave would be an arduous task. Even a minor crevice in the earth could send him sprawling.

However, the blond had learned to compensate for his voluntary lack of sight. The past few weeks of working without sight had caused Naruto's ever-changing body to adapt. His senses of touch, hearing, taste and smell had increased to compensate for his unused eyesight. He found that he could quite easily navigate the rocky earth beneath his feet, provided he step carefully. It was a lesson learned painfully, when he accidentally stepped into the still-smoldering fire pit, its coals still white and smoking from the night before. He hissed and jumped away, only to land painfully on his ass. Chuckling at himself, he was glad that Krystal wasn't around to see his stupid mistake. The blonde became more cautious as he slowly tried to make his way out of the cave.

It was with trepidation that Naruto approached the cave exit, the morning light piercing through his thick blindfold. Water crashed down upon rocks in the distance, the sound echoing around him. A soft wind caressed his hair, and in the distance he heard an eagle screeching. Soft earth, sprinkled with delightfully smooth pebbles, was a welcome sensation to his feet. He scrunched his toes back and forth, savoring the feeling of the fine earth sifting between his toes. He breathed in the fresh morning air, and immediately his spirits were lifted. The two weeks that he had spent trapped indoors had clashed with his restless spirit; the ability to move about freely again was like a drug. The sense of wanderlust within him was powerful; it filled his soul with a quiet, yet burning desire.

But, he remembered his oath to Krystal, and immediately squashed the notion to tear away the blindfold and leave. He was content to stay here for the moment.

Now, one might wonder why he felt this way. It was simple reasoning, really. Despite Krystal's doubts, he really was being truthful. He owed her his _life_. For the simple act of saving him, he felt as though he was permanently in her debt. Few others in her position would have done the same. In his final moments of despair, when all hope seemed lost, she had saved him. When he made a promise, he kept it. For better, or for worse.

If only he knew what she looked like! He frowned as he accidentally stepped on a sharp pebble. For the life of him, he couldn't picture her face.

Lost in his thoughts, Naruto wandered into a second cave. He was about to turn around when a wall of humid, warm air struck him. The blond sniffed experimentally, a light steam burning his nose.

"…A hot spring?" He thought aloud, stopping. It had been two weeks since he'd last bathed, he was still feeling sore, and in all likelihood, he smelled like blood and age-old refuse. He inclined his head, sniffed one of his own armpits and recoiled in disgust, the smell bringing tears to his eyes. Dear _Lord_. He needed a bath, and he needed one _now_. How the hell did Krystal put up with him?

He walked further into the cave, putting his left hand on the cave wall and approaching its depths. His hands ran across the unnaturally smooth walls of the cave, and he smiled at the sensation. "What a wonderful place." He whispered, chuckling. It was as though he was running his fingers across cool, polished marble.

Mere seconds later, he stubbed his bare toe on a large, hard rock. He yelped, clutching at his toes. '_I just had to open my mouth…'_ he thought, grimacing. He knelt before the stone and ran his hands over it, getting a rough idea of its size. It was small, maybe a half-foot tall, and covered in a thin moss. As he ran a curious hand over it, he accidentally dipped his fingertips in a pool of hot water. _'Jackpot.'_

He stripped himself of his few garments, which was a lot easier said than done. The bandages kept getting in the way of his movements, and he couldn't see. Halfway through the process, he gave up and peeled away the bandages that bound his torso. In all likelihood, the bleeding had stopped by now, and the bandages needed to be changed. Dried blood crackled as he peeled away the sticky bindings, and he winced as his cuts were exposed to air. He felt strangely naked without the bandages tightly wound around his torso.

He'd been lazing around for _far _too long.

He folded his clothes and set them in a neat pile nearby, save for his blindfold. An insatiable curiosity struck him; had his wounds fully healed? Scarred? What did he look like now? He _needed_ to know, regardless of the consequences.

"Krystal! You there?" He called loudly. No words answered his own. Seeing no harm in doing so, he quickly untied the knot that bound the cloth over his eyes, and slowly peeled the fabric away. He squinted as the dim lighting of the cave harshly burnt his eyes; the disuse had worsened them more than he thought.

Soon, the pain faded, and Naruto gently rubbed his eyes, feeling as though he had awoken from an eternal slumber. As his vision slowly returned from weeks of disuse, he gazed upon his shifting reflection in the water's surface. Frowning, he channeled a small amount of chakra into his palm, slapping the water's surface. The ripples in the hot spring ceased, and in that moment, he gasped.

His torso was covered in even more scars than he remembered. Some were shallow, lengthy cuts; others appeared to be vicious stab wounds that marred his skin. Luckily, most of them had faded with time, and would probably disappear altogether within a month. But some of them… he grimaced, running his hand across the scar that covered his chest. Some of them would never go away.

As he sat next to the shimmering hot spring, his attention was drawn from his chest to his eyes. Where they had once been deep pools of sky-blue sapphire, now they seemed to glow with a piercing light. In the dim lighting of the cave, they shone like beacons. An alien presence radiated from them, and as he stared into his reflection, he felt as though he was being drawn into it. Quickly, he snapped his gaze away. He ran his hands over his arms, shivering despite the cave's warmth. Looking at his own reflection left him feeling ill at ease; these eyes were _not_ his own.

It was then that his hands encountered an odd… feeling. Not a bump, but a change in skin texture. He glanced at the limb in question, his eyes widening in surprise. A tattoo wrapped around his upper left arm, forming what looked like a sunburst on his tricep. _'When did this get here?' _the blond thought, tracing the design with his fingertips. It was entirely black, tribal in design, but it didn't _feel_ like a tattoo would. It was… strange. It was incredibly sensitive to the touch; even brushing his fingernails over the intricate design would send shivers up and down his arm.

Deciding to continue his observations later, Naruto lowered himself slowly into the water. As he slipped into liquid bliss, he hissed in satisfaction. The water went up to the middle of his chest, softly bubbling. It was hot enough to wash away the dried blood and soreness in his limbs, but just cool enough not to scald. He sighed contentedly, leaning his head back on the rock.

Weary eyes closed, despite the energy teeming with him. As he relaxed in the hot spring, thoughts came unbidden to his mind. Thoughts of home, worn and grainy like an aged photograph, appeared before his eyes. Pictures danced through his head, flickering as though illuminated by candlelight. Faces and names, some recent, some long-forgotten, appeared before him in a haze. Words, both harsh and loving, whispered softly in his ears, as vague and veiled as the wind itself. An old man – _his_ old man – whispering to him, in a calm voice.

"_Don't listen to their words of hate. They know not of what they speak," he said, puffing his pipe. He smiled down at me, and lay a hand on his head, ruffling his mud-stained blond hair. "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves. And you, my boy… you have a great destiny. All you have to do, is open your eyes!" _

Soft footfalls interrupted his daydream. He stiffened, silencing his breathing, and gently lowered himself into the water. In unfamiliar territory, stark-naked, and in recovery, Naruto knew he was in no condition for a fight. His only hope was to avoid confrontation; namely, using the stealth skills honed into him by years of training. He slowly cracked one eye open, and sharply inhaled at the sight before him.

Even in his wildest dreams, Naruto had never imagined such a being could exist. A voluptuous woman approached, her hips swaying gently with each step. She wore a faded black tank top and cargo pants, the former of which left _very_ little to the imagination. Her lithe, athletic figure, coupled with her self-assured posture, gave her a grace and poise which Naruto had seldom seen before. Each footfall, each gesture, was incredibly graceful, as if she were not merely walking, but dancing before an audience. Her hair, a deep-ocean blue in color, traveled down to the nape of her neck in thick spikes, but curled gently at the tips, framing her slim, yet defined shoulders.

However, it wasn't her hair color, nor her figure, that surprised Naruto; rather, it was the fact that she was… well, _furry_. There wasn't any better way to describe her. Soft, light-blue fur covered her body, highlighted with white rings at her upper arms. Behind her dangled a soft-looking tail, decorated with rings of silver, colored blue and white. Her eyes, blue-gray, seemed to glow with an inner light, and rested on either size of her… _muzzle_. She had a _muzzle_. And her _ears_! Large and blue, with white tips, peaking just above her hairline.

Naruto quickly stilled himself, pressing himself further against the stone and sinking deeper into the hot spring. With any luck, she would pass right by him. If she saw him- he cursed as she stopped, ears twitching. Her head swiveled left and right, as though searching for something.

An eternity later, she grunted and shook her head. "I must be hearing things," she muttered, her voice reverberating strangely within the stone passage. Naruto felt the tension that had been building in his muscles ease away at her words.

Her soft footfalls gradually disappeared as she walked further into the cave. Naruto apprehensively released the breath he'd been holding, and silently gathered his things as quickly as he could. He needed to get out of here, before she returned. More than that, he needed to _think_. Just _what_ had he gotten himself into?

(**AN**: Looking for a Beta-Reader. Check out my profile for more information.)


	7. Judgement

The blond scrambled away from the cave, clothes bundled haphazardly in his arms. His heart beat wildly with panic, like a frenzied drummer. Her face was swimming in his minds eye, leering wickedly, her sharp teeth promising a slow, painful demise. The mere _thought _that she_ might _be giving chase gave him unbelievable speed. As he bolted towards the cave, he dared not look back over his shoulder. He feared that she would be lying in wait, at any moment , ready to strike.

Fear had him in its rigid, icy clutches. And rightly so! He'd been in the lair of a _fox demon_! Spirits of the dead, returned to seek vengeance upon those who tormented them in life. _Man-eaters_! Pebbles pierced his bare feet as they pounded the rough stones, but he steadfastly ignored the pain. His priority was getting the _fuck_ out of there!

The hot springs weren't that far away from the cave itself; while it would take a blind man quite a long time to navigate his way there, an adrenaline-filled, downright _terrified _ninja was another story entirely.

The cave entrance was soon within sight, its naturally-formed arches a beacon of hope. His feet beat the earth like lightning; chakra-enhanced jumps carried him over mossy boulders and winding streams that impeded his path. Even the very air seemed to quietly part before him, as he swiftly fled.

He quickly burst into the cave, skidding haphazardly on the smooth floor. The humble dwelling remained as he had left it; warm and inviting. The fire pit was still burning brightly, and a pot of stew hung above it, bubbling softly. The tantalizing smell of cooking fish gently wafted into the air.

However, none of this registered to Naruto. It was as if his body were on auto-pilot, a puppet before his overpowering instincts. His eyes were wild and glassed over with panic, and his mind whirled with shambled thoughts of fear and confusion.

The panicking blond hastily threw on what little clothing he possessed. All of the kunai he owned, along with whatever survival gear he could find on such short notice, founder their way into a salvaged bag. It was a thin, flimsy thing, made of a worn burlap sack, but it would suffice. He grasped its strings and pulled them tightly, knotting off the bag at its top.

As he approached the cave entrance once again, he paused, pursing his lips. The adrenaline rush that had once gripped his thoughts was slowly fading, and a doubt began plaguing his mind. He was doing the right thing, wasn't he? Fleeing from a demon's lair… anyone else in his position would do the same...

Shame and self-loathing quickly filled his gut as the thought wavered in his mind.

"What am I doing…?" He muttered, eyes downcast. He dropped the rucksack to the earth, and sat heavily upon his haunches. In his agitation, he began tracing circles on the stone with his finger. _'This isn't right.'_

What he'd seen had taken him by surprise… but, wasn't a ninja supposed to _expect the unexpected_, and see _underneath the underneath_? He despised his oldest sensei, but would never forget those lessons he had been taught. Proper ninja harnessed their emotions, allowing them to remain calm and act rationally even in the most extreme situations. On the other hand, he'd foolishly fell into a state of panic, placing his rampant emotions above his better judgment, and it was sure to bite him in the ass. He needed to calm down… center himself… think.

He assumed the Lotus position on the cave floor and closed his eyes, trying to calm his fevered heart. Breathing deeply, he slowly felt the tension and tremors of adrenaline leave his body.

Sure, Krystal wasn't human… but she had helped him, right? More importantly, she hadn't _eaten_ him in the time they'd spent together. Though she'd been a little bit... unreceptive at times, he knew she had a good heart.

So why was he reacting like this?

He scowled. He was such a hypocrite!

How _could_ he? People had been judging him by appearance since he was _born_. He had always believed that the human heart was a power unlike any other, and its intentions were always for the better… Regardless of their appearances, or their pasts, he'd made his friends and stuck with them. Some of his oldest allies were even considered 'demons' by their own _people_!

Memories, as powerful as a tsunami, raged through his mind.

_A young man with blood-red hair and piercing green eyes stood before him, his hand outstretched in friendship. Though not bound by blood, two brothers has been born that day, brothers of steel and blood. Order and chaos, compassion and hate became united in that one moment; it was as though the universe itself had been righted. _

If he had made his peace with a '_demon_' like Gaara, if he had befriended one of the most _bloodthirsty _murderers in all of the Elemental Countries, what was stopping him from accepting Krystal? What was it about her that ignited such a negative reaction? When he had first seen her face, it was as though he had been electrocuted with fear; his senses fled like smoke before a hurricane.

He reasoned that it was not her persona that affected him, but her appearance. Though obviously mad when they had first met, Gaara had at least appeared human. It gave Naruto a base from which to know the redhead better.

Furthermore, the two shared a similar past, filled with… circumstances, which shifted the blond's initial fear into pity, understanding, and a hint of rage. Pity, that the boy who had shared his fate had descended into madness. Understanding, that as long as he continued to extend his hand, friendship and recovery were possible. Rage, that yet another had to suffer the same fate; that another had been outcast by his society because of circumstances beyond his control.

Krystal wasn't human, and she didn't share a similar past with the blonde, as far as demon-containing was aware. But unlike Gaara, she had a compassionate disposition. She walked with both grace and poise; animalistic beauty beyond comparison seemed to emanate from her, and with a simple glance, it was as if the world seemed that much brighter. She rarely spoke, and yet… she didn't need to.

And yet, he had judged her by appearance: the one thing she couldn't control.

The blond considered himself an expert at reading people. The little quirks, their expressions, the thoughts hiding behind their concealing eyes; he could read them as though they were laid out in a booklet before him. The vulpine's thoughts were no different. She was as much of a person as anyone else… possibly moreso, given the aura of peace she seemed to radiate.

As he sat, cross-legged on the cool stone floor, he made himself another lifetime promise. He had let his rampant emotions get the best of him, and in turn, passed judgment on his savior. He wouldn't do so again.

Naruto opened his eyes, the fear and uncertainty within them replaced with determination. He'd make things right.

He heard a sharp intake of breath; spinning quickly, kunai drawn in his left hand, he crouched and surveyed his target. In front of him stood Krystal, mere feet away, having just returned from the hot springs. She paused, eyes narrowing, her lips drawing a hard line.

Now that she was much closer, the blond took a second to appreciate the beauty that had once been concealed within the semi-darkness of the cave. The sheen of her fur, illuminated by the midday sun, enticed his eye; her ears flicked gently in the wind, filling him with a sense of wonder. Her tail, ringed with decorative ornaments, swayed gently behind her, as though moving with a mind of its own. The clothes she wore clung to her curvaceous form in just the right places, hinting at her athleticism and just screaming with animal magnetism. Naruto would be lying if he said he wasn't captivated by the sight.

But what most attracted him, were her eyes. Deep pools of blue-gray, sparkling with life, that seemed to pull him in like gravity. He could lose himself in those eyes…

Suddenly, the 'moment' was broken. Krystal's gaze swiftly broke with his, and instead focused on the burlap sack at his feet. Suspicion clouded her mind, and she glanced between Naruto – now wearing fresh clothes – and the burlap sack. She quickly put two and two together, and before the blond could react, she lunged for him, wicked-looking claws drawn.

"Wait!" Exclaimed the ninja, as he parried her strike with the kunai. His eyes widened in surprise as he felt her strength; he'd never taken such a strong hit before! Luckily, he seemed to have healed enough to hold his own. He prayed that his wounds wouldn't re-open under the strain of intense battle.

She growled in response, breaking Naruto's guard and launching a vicious kick at his temple. The battle-hardened ninja reflexively ducked, resisting the urge to counter-attack. The fight carried on like this for several seconds; the enraged vulpine would attack with lightning-fast precision, and the blond would nimbly dodge, a hairs breadth away from severe injury.

The vulpine, Naruto analyzed, was making excellent use of her natural abilities. It was as if she had taken physical combat and combined it with her natural instincts, turning even the simplest of movements into a complex dance. Her body flowed from position to position like water; her claws rending through the air like a raging torrent, her physique rippling with controlled power. If Naruto hadn't been focused on dodging her attacks, he'd be gaping in awe. Her fighting style was easily one of the most inhumanly graceful things he'd ever seen.

Why was she even attacking him? As he ducked underneath a vicious roundhouse, his mind was working at an incredible pace. She'd seen his rucksack, and suddenly turned violent. It didn't make any sense.

She almost managed to nick him a few times, but he would quickly evade her, like wheat stalks parting before the scythe. She was tiring, and both fighters knew it. Though Krystal was incredibly athletic, and showed evidence of extensive martial arts training, Naruto reasoned that she hadn't been exposed to many long-term battles.

Her pace was beginning to slow; the change was very slight, but it was there. In all fairness, Naruto considered himself to be a master of hand-to-hand combat, having trained for years under a variety of teachers. If it weren't for his quick reflexes and his developed muscle memory, he'd have been horribly maimed by then.

As he parried another vicious slash, he took the opportunity to pull her in closely, snaring her against his chest with his stronger arm. He held her tightly as she struggled, only to release her with a gasp as she bit down sharply on his bad shoulder. He cursed and leapt back, grasping at the bite, using direct pressure to slow the bleeding.

"Dammit! This is a misunderstanding!" Exclaimed Naruto, as he angrily pressed his hand into the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding. If his healing factor had returned, it would heal any time now… hopefully.

Krystal didn't respond; rather, as he spoke, her eyes filled with sadness and confusion. A look of desperation marred her once-stoic features; she turned sharply on her heels and bolted out of the cave, running into the surrounding forest. Within seconds, she was spirited away by the thick foliage, disappearing from the blonde's sight.

"Wait!" Naruto cursed, leaping out of the cave in hot pursuit. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder was an easy task, not nearly as important as his objective. He began pumping his legs viciously in order to keep up with the fleeing vixen, lest he lose her in the oppressive forest that threatened to swallow him whole.

He redoubled his efforts, channeling chakra into his limbs. The trees before him faded into an indistinct blur of brown and green; he surged through the forest like a tidal wave, moving through the branches with the ease of a seasoned acrobat. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears, as he quickly closed the gap between himself and the blue-furred vulpine.


	8. Upon a Hill of Swords

A blue vixen appeared in a sea of billowing green branches, as Naruto sped through the trees on the outskirts of Konoha. Loose stones and fallen branches cut sharply into his feet, but he paid the sensations little mind. He had a purpose, a promise to fulfill, and a few measly scratches wouldn't change that.

The wind whipped through his hair viciously, its fevered hands running through his scalp. It wasn't pleasant sensation, but it wasn't even registered by the blond. His savior was mere meters ahead, and growing closer with each passing second.

He deftly vaulted over a large boulder that impeded his path, flinging himself into the air with reckless abandon. The vixen wasn't making this easy; though the terrain they were covering was rough, she continued on unabated. The trees seemed to part before her approach, like ocean waves. The vixen had probably traveled along this route before, the blond mused, as he leapt over a large crevice.

What she failed to realize – what he hadn't told her – was that he was familiar with the wilderness as well. Many nights spend scavenging for food and sleeping amongst the stars had conditioned him well to the forest life; running through the thick woods had become nearly second-nature to him.

He leapt into the treetops, using his own natural energies to propel himself from branch to branch. His very body seemed to hum with controlled energy; despite his incredible pace, his footfalls remained nearly silent.

The vulpine, now just within touching distance, glanced back at her pursuer. Her eyes widened in surprise at the blonde's speed, and she made a 'chopping' gesture with one of her hands.

"Stay back!" She cried. A melon-sized rock suddenly and violently launched itself into the air, on a direct impact course with her unsuspecting pursuer. Cursing, Naruto haphazardly sidestepped the lethal projectile, its jagged edges leaving a light cut across his forearm.

"Right… so that's how it's going to be…" the blond muttered, as he redoubled his effort, in order to cover lost ground. The vixen had used his moment of distraction to put more distance between them; however, she didn't expect him to catch her so easily. Within seconds, he was running side-by-side with her, the wind whipping through his golden locks violently.

"Krystal! What's gotten into you!" Naruto shouted, above the roar of wind in their ears. The vulpine responded by launching yet another object – a fallen log, dried and decayed with age – at the blond.

This time, however, he wasn't able to dodge it. Their intense speeds, coupled with the thickening terrain, prevented Naruto from sidestepping the log, as he had the previous projectile; with a muffled thump, the breath escaped from his lungs as the log solidly impacted his stomach. He stumbled forward, landing heavily on the roots of a fallen tree.

Seconds later, he felt a heavy weight press itself upon his chest; opening his eyes, he realized that Krystal had taken advantage of his position, straddling the downed blond's chest and holding a single sharpened claw to his neck. She bore down, drawing the deadly tip to his exposed throat, poised to draw blood.

"Any last words?" She growled, their heavy breathing blocking out the other sounds of the forest. It was as if the birds themselves had stopped chirping, and the insects stopped their incessant chatter; all eyes seemed to focus on the man and women, entangled in the throes of combat upon the forest floor.

Two things surprised Krystal about their situation.

The first of which, was the blond's lack of reaction to her razor-sharp claws at his throat; rather than pull away from them, he seemed to expose more of his throat to her claws, as though he didn't care whether he lived or died. This boy… he refused to cower in fear. Even when confronted with the loss of his own life, he remained unafraid, no hint of fear escaping him. She could respect that.

The second thing that surprised her, however, was his response to her question. She had seen men die before; most passed into the shadow with curses upon their lips, their cries of horror echoing endlessly into the midnight sky, granting those of the living realm no reprieve. Rather than beg for mercy, or promise her an early death, he tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. After a brief moment of silence, the only sounds being their hearts beating together, he spoke.

"None worth mentioning, really… just a question. Was it something I said?" He inquired, his eyes calm in the face of such a life-threatening display. A rumbling chuckle built up inside of his chest; she could feel the vibrations as his body shifted beneath her.

He'd _let_ himself be cornered. But why…?

Krystal tensed, as though to lunge forward and spill her captive's lifeblood upon the forest floor, but paused. Surely, he couldn't be that _thick-headed_. He was leaving – returning to the humans. If he even breathed word of her _existence _to anyone in the village… she'd be hunted down like a wild animal! She'd in all likelihood be tortured to death, slaughtered, her pelt hung on some rich dignitary's wall like an expensive work of art. It was a terrifying thought; she'd seen what the humans had done to that which they did not understand. She swallowed fearfully at the thought, clenching and flexing her hand. An end to her fear was mere inches away, and would require no more effort than gently moving a finger…

They gazed into each other's eyes once again. Sky-blue sapphires, glowing with an ethereal inner light, captivated her gaze, drawing her in. It was if a rope had been tethered between their bodies, and was slowly growing taught with each second. Though it was easily ignored at first, slowly the sensation grew stronger. It dominated her will; it deafened her to everything but the beat of their hearts, languid to her ears. She couldn't breathe. The sensation was suffocating… it was _intoxicating._

Wincing, Krystal closed her eyes and turned her head away, resisting the pull she felt towards the blond man beneath her. There it was again… that strange sensation. It was like a psychic pull, only... it wasn't. The confused vixen growled in agitation; was there something wrong with her? _Why couldn't she kill this man?_

Krystal clenched her hand tightly at his throat, claw tracing lightly along his neck. _"Stay away from me,, human."_ she whispered coldly. With that departing message, she leaped into the underbrush, quickly putting distance between herself and the recovering blond.

Said blond climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt off of his pants. Looking in the direction that Krystal fled, he paused, judging the distance between them. She fled as though the very earth beneath her was on fire... and given the large head-start she had, he wouldn't be able to catch her easily.

Not to say that he wouldn't try.

Naruto closed his eyes, gathering chakra within him. His reserves were extraordinarily large for someone of his age, a trait which had positive effects as well as drawbacks. So much energy boiled within him that it was nearly impossible to control; he'd been told this many times throughout his life, and thus far, that fact hadn't changed. Despite that, his capacity continued to grow throughout the years, now dwarfing some of the most powerful warriors in existence.

Naruto smirked confidently at the thought. Who needs finite control, when you have sheer _power_?

With a sharp hand gesture, the energy he'd built up within his core exploded in all directions. It was a technique he'd developed back in his childhood; a sort of chakra-radar, able to extend his 'sight' far beyond that of a normal human. His massive chakra capacity allowed him to 'see' five miles in almost any direction, an invaluable skill when pursuing a target.

And they'd said he couldn't be a ninja.

Krystal was hundreds of meters due east of his position, he mused; he spent a few moments watching her traverse unimpeded through the woods, admiring her physique and the grace with which she moved. A smile worked its way onto his face; the way her fur rippled in the cool breeze, the way her bare feet danced lightly upon the forest floor… it was so _natural_. Suddenly, her movements ceased; she stopped, her eyes gazing at something in the distance.

He shifted his perspective, eyeing her target. Ahead of her was a large, stone-wrought building, covered in thick vines… her destination.

He ceased the flow of chakra and opened his eyes once more, canceling the technique. Though Krystal had told him not to follow, he would have to disobey that order. He had made a promise, to himself and to the vixen, and he wouldn't fail. To do so meant betraying everything he stood for.

He set off into the forest at a decently fast pace, roughly brushing aside the foliage that impeded his path. She was mere minutes away, and stalling for time was out of the question.

While her destination wasn't visible through the brush, the blond man used his excellent sense of navigation – along with his knowledge of the forest and its workings – to guide him. He could 'feel' her presence approaching quickly, a sure sign that he was heading in the right direction. The foliage encompassing him slowly grew thicker as he traveled deeper and deeper into the depths of the forest.

What was once a vast expanse of flourishing pine trees became a blazing, humid rainforest. Hanging vines impeded his travel; small, winding streams often criss-crossed his path. At one point, he almost stepped on a large snake, but he reacted quickly enough to avoid its venomous fangs. He bolted through the harsh environment, thoughts of battle and lessons of the past repeating themselves within his mind.

He was close. The sounds of the rainforest began to change; the incessant chirping of insects ceased, and the blazing midday heat began to wane. As he burst from the treeline, Naruto paused, staring in shock at the sight before him.

He'd never seen anything like it before, which was surprising, given how close it was to the village. It must have towered four or five stories into the air, its top barely concealed by the large canopy of trees. It was stylized in the shape of a ritual altar, with religious icons – tribal masks of some sort – incorporated into its design. It was made of a faded gray color, worn with age, its edges cracked and eroded. Vines crept along its exterior, encompassing it in an eerie manner, like that of a boa constrictor. Swords, spears, and all manner of weapons – most of them rusted and broken beyond repair – remained impaled in the earth around the temple, as if from some historic battle of epic proportion. The scent of moist earth and morning dew lingered in the air, sending a slight shiver down the blond's spine.

If Naruto had to take a guess, he'd say that the temple had been built hundreds, if not thousands of years ago.

The sight was awe-inspiring. How had something this ancient, something this powerful, escape the notice of the nearby leaf nin? He'd traversed the length of the forest more times than he could remember, and yet he couldn't recall seeing this before.

He shoved aside his interest for now; Krystal had stopped moving, and she was definitely inside the temple before him. Taking a deep breath, he entered the pyramid, descending down a flight of steps into pitch blackness.

The shadows seemed to consume all light; as he descended into the pyramid's depths, he could scarcely see a foot in front of his face.

He walked through a tunnel that seemed to stretch endlessly into the earth, putting his hand on the wall and using it to guide him. His fingers brushed across the unnaturally smooth stone, pausing at the sensation. The wall was obviously hand-carved with machine-like precision. In the dim light provided by his adjusting vision, he could make out intricate carvings running along the length of the tunnel: pictures of deities, conquest, struggle and peace… hieroglyphics, perhaps? A record of a civilization's history?

The hieroglyphics were lifelike in their detail, standing out even to the untrained eye. He'd come back later, he resolved, as he turned his attention from the hieroglyphics to the growing light at the end of the tunnel. An opening to fresh air, perhaps. He heedlessly ran towards the light, already tasting the fresh air.

He emerged into a large, circular room, with a dome-shaped ceiling. Unlike the building's exterior, the interior was well-kept; it showed no sign of age, despite obviously being ancient in origin. The walls, painted pitch-black, were inlaid with golden veins and studded with gems of all kinds. At a second glance, Naruto realized that the gems were strategically placed, revealing the constellations of the night sky, connected by lifelike streaks of gold that shimmered brightly; it was a breathtaking sight to behold.

The room itself must have been hundreds of feet across, easily dwarfing the trade district of Konoha; it was lit by a small hole in the ceiling, casting a pale beam of light down into the center of the room.

His piercing eyes fell upon what looked like the remains of a large crystal, resting upon a dais in the direct center of the room. The crystal itself had been shattered from the inside, and fractured pieces were scattered from the center of the explosion. Such a beautiful thing, broken… Naruto sighed, feeling empty, as though he were a child being denied a great gift. Were that gem whole, it would have surely been a wonderful sight.

Massive crystals, similar to the first, were suspended around the room at ground level, enticing to his eye. They radiated a murky-green colored light, like that of the midmorning ocean, sparkling brilliantly despite the room being well-lit. The way they glowed was almost ethereal, in a way; it was as though the angels of heaven had taken physical form, blessing the very earth itself. Awestruck, the blond man approached one of the gems, running his hand across its surface. It was cool and metallic to the touch…

That was when he noticed something odd about the crystal. It had a strangely dark section at its center, through which no lights seemed to penetrate. Was there something inside of it? The blond man paused, peering into the gem's depths, only to blink in recognition. He slowly stepped away, eyes widening in surprise.

A body was sealed inside the crystal before him, perfectly preserved throughout years of abandonment. Glancing around the room, his eyes took in a sight that made him cringe in realization.

This place wasn't a _temple_… it was a _tomb_.

He gazed upon the room with new eyes. Hundreds of crystals lined the walls of the dome-shaped room. Each one was roughly the same size and shape – like that of a casket – and was suspended next to its peers in rows that extended beyond his vision.

"What… what is this?" Naruto whispered, his gaze exploring the room with a sense of horror and apprehension.

"This," boomed a familiar voice, "Is what you've done."

Krystal stood before him, carrying a weapon Naruto had never seen before. It looked like a cross between a staff, a scythe, and a mace; it was easily as tall as he was, made of intricately carved white wood. Accenting said wood was a webbing of solid gold, which seemed to weave itself in a vine-like pattern from the base of the staff to its tip. Upon either end of the staff rested a large crystal, blue in color, which hummed with mystical energy.

Most conventional weapons were straightforward in their design and purpose. Decorating a blade with expensive gems would often throw off its center of gravity, as well as adding unnecessary weight, making them useless in combat. That being said, the staff was deceptively powerful; even standing ten feet away from Krystal, the mere presence of her staff caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

Despite its flashy appearance, Naruto had no doubts that the weapon before him was designed to kill.

Upon entering the temple, Krystal had sensed the ninja's presence immediately. He had desecrated her ancestral home, he had trespassed upon her peoples' burial grounds, he had the _gall _to_ touch _the _grave _of a_ soldier his people killed, _poking about like a_ kid in a candy store! _

He was going to pay… and he was going to pay, _dearly_.

The blue-furred vixen whirled the staff quickly between her fingertips, before slamming it into the ground. His senses going into overdrive, the blond man leapt back; his instincts were spot on. A deafening boom graced his ears; where his feet had once rested, large stone spikes violently exploded from the floor, threatening to impale him.

Naruto's thoughts were occupied, as his feet returned to solid ground. He still couldn't fathom why she would spare his life earlier... or, for that matter, why she was trying to kill him in the first place.

There was one thing he was certain of, though. The staff… that was why she fled, that was why she went into the temple… it had been a diversion, a way to even the odds in their fight. He thought he was giving chase; and now, trapped in a foreign location and confronted with a magical artifact, he belatedly realized that he'd been _baited_. And he hadn't even realized it.

Now, she had the home field advantage, along with a weapon that he didn't understand. For the first time in years, Naruto felt like a little kid, getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His grin stretched from ear to ear. _Damn, she's good._

Krystal growled in frustration. "What a piece of work a man is… _You dare mock the dead_!" She roared, madness dancing in her eyes. Pure lightning crackled to life along the length of the staff, and as the enraged vixen swung, a streak of lightning whipped through the room.

It was as if the very hand of God had descended upon the earth in that moment, carving shimmering runes of destruction into the very air. For a moment, the entire room was alight with the sheer power of her attack. Static popped loudly in his ears; each breath seared his lungs.

Yeah, that was _definitely _a weapon designed to kill.

Naruto hastily ducked, the wave of neon-blue lightning cutting through the air above his head like a hot knife. Krystal paused, panting heavily in exertion. Apparently, using the staff tired her out pretty quickly. Seeing an opportunity to advance, he sprinted forward, drawing a kunai from his belt.

If she wanted a death match… he'd _give _her a death match.

"What are you talking about? What did I _do!_ I never killed any of these people!" Exclaimed the blond, parrying a downward stroke of the vixen's staff. She used her forward momentum, bringing the bottom end of the staff to bear, following up her previous strike; pivoting on his back foot, Naruto sidestepped the blow, following up with a swift stab of his own.

The razor-sharp blade impaled itself in the earth, as the recovering vixen hastily rolled away. Taking the motion in stride, she leapt to her feet, once again making use of the magical properties of her staff. Both ends burned with electricity once more, although this time the energy was much more controlled; the lightning itself acted as an extension of the staff, an improvised edge that could likely flay through stone with ease.

"Don't try lying your way out of this one, _human_!" snarled the beautiful, yet terrible vixen, as her staff throbbed with power. The light cast by her glowing staff illuminated half her face, casting a menacing shadow upon a single eye that burned with righteous fury.

A downward slash, missing by inches, caused Naruto's clothing to burn and tear. Even if the staff's edges weren't directly touching him, the energy and heat would; he could feel the hairs on his arms singing as he deftly avoided her fatal dance.

He grimaced, throwing his kunai at her. The weapon was made of thick metal; it would conduct electricity, and in this situation, was completely useless for anything other than a distraction. Anticipating his movement, Krystal parried the lethal throw with her staff, sending the sharpened knife spiraling end-over-end into the far corners of the room.

"For the last time, I don't… even know… what you're talking about!" He grunted, dodging yet another vicious electricity-drenched swing.

In retrostpect, that was a bad move.

Suddenly, Krystal gestured towards him, as if grabbing something out of midair; with a startled yelp, the blond man rose into the air, helpless as a newborn babe. He hung before her, struggling uselessly against her psychic grip; his feet dangling inches above the ground, and his arms pinned at his sides, he watched with trepidation as Krystal brought her staff to bear once more. Their eyes locked - this time, hers with much more sinister intent- and she narrowed her gaze.

"…No?" Whispered the vixen coldly, her eyes hardening. "Well then, I suppose that I'll have to… _educate_ you." She closed her hand and pantomimed a punching motion.

Suddenly, the wind howled in Naruto's ears, as though he were caught in the center of a tornado; his entire world was spinning. He couldn't see the ground beneath his feet, nor could he feel it.

His trip was brought to a bone-crunching halt, as he crashed heavily into a stone pillar. He winced, his back taking the brunt of the impact. Dust and small stones scattered from his impromptu crash landing; he was suspended in mid-air, his back to the pillar.

The vixen slowly leisurely approached him, but maintained her psychic grip on his body. Her stance screamed aggression; her tail twitched in agitation behind her, and her soft ears were laid flat against her head. She stalked closer to her prey, silently collecting her thoughts.

After what seemed like ages, her mouth opened slowly. Ina voice not her own, heavy with pain and loss, she began to speak… and as the words, unknown to his ears, flowed out of her Naruto felt a pressure building inside his head.

_"Efod kxo ooj, efod kxo madt, xek jev kxo fujk, hocoujo kxo kaoj kxuk radt..."_

He_ felt_ the words inside his heart, as though they were raindrops falling to the earth.

Whispers of lost souls echoed within his mind. Indistinct muttering soon built up into a whirlwind of voices, each filled with loss and longing. Tears sprung to his eyes, though not out of physical pain; he could _feel _the emotions bleeding into his own, threatening to throw him into the bowels of madness. He blinked quickly, clearing the tears, only to gasp; around the tomb, hundreds of glowing eyes turned to look at him from inside the crystals, scrutinizing him.

"_Human…_" they said in an eerie voice. Distantly, Naruto heard the sounds of children crying, of loved ones giving their dying breaths, of fire and blood and _destruction! So much death! Chaos! Blood paving the halls of their most sacred temple! Murdering, filthy horrors from the East! Dead, dead, dead! DEAD! All dead! WHY? HOW! Bloodthirsty murderers! Defilers! Dead! Dead! They should be DEAD!_

_The voices began merging with his own thoughts; he didn't know if the spirits were speaking, or if it was simply in his imagination. A woman screaming in agony; a child crying; a father swearing vengeance for the death of his only son. Their thoughts oppressed his own, the sheer power behind their emotions rendering him numb. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He couldn't _breathe_. His surroundings slowly faded away, until he was left submerged in inky blackness._

Alone… but for a familiar voice.

"It began, a long, long time ago…"


	9. Falling

"_In the beginning, there was darkness… and when light arrived, the world was born into chaos. " _

A brilliant flash of light appeared in the distance; Naruto shielded his eyes with his forearm, turning away from the blinding torrent. Cracking one eye open, he watched in awe as a bright ball of lava hung effortlessly in the air. Streams of light and magma leapt across its surface, its heat and angry red glare giving off an aura of malice.

Around it, eight spheres converged. They varied in size and color, but each one followed a set path around the central fire-ball. Naruto pursed his lips; just what was he looking at here? It was of great significance, he knew… perhaps symbolic of some event?

His eyes glanced back and forth across the scene, taking in the terrifying, yet beautiful sight. Such a vision was… unnatural. It was like watching a troop of angels, descended from heaven. They were graceful, and yet otherworldly; he knew not their purpose, nor their intent. And the sheer _power_ they possessed… it was unimaginable.

And then… one by one, the spheres began fade away into the distance, leaving only one. It slowly grew, until it towered above him like an imposing god.

He eyed its contours with undisguised interest. No longer was it a raging ball of cataclysmic fire; the red oceans of magma had taken a cool blue hue, its earthen roots now covered in greenery. As it hovered before him, slowly spinning, his eyes widened as they caught sight of a particular landmass.

"No way…" Naruto breathed, as he reached out to touch the sphere. However, he stopped, his finger hovering inches away from its surface. It couldn't be… could it?

On the sphere was an exact replica of the elemental countries, detailed like none other. He could pick out the individual landmasses – the islands of the Land of Wave; the and even the trees that comprised the forests of Konoha…

The blond experienced a rush of understanding and shock. The world before him was his _own_! It was far too detailed, too accurate, to be a forgery. His people had _no_ idea how large the world really was! Naruto felt the beginnings of tears coming to his eyes, at the beauty of the sight. It struck something within him,something _wonderful._ Intrigue exploded within his heart, like the very ball of fire this planet was made of; there was so much to be discovered, so many hidden lands to explore! He could hardly believe it.

He took a step forward, running a hand across its surface, and closed his eyes.

And suddenly, he was falling.

Below, he could see clouds, obscuring the land beneath; with a strangled cry, he passed through them as though they were nonexistent. As he passed through, however, he experienced the sensation of being stabbed by hundreds of tiny needles .Icy droplets of water clung to his skin and clothing, chilling him to the bone, as he tumbled towards the earth below. Gravity held him tightly within its powerful grasp, ceaselessly pulling him ever downwards. The air was as thin as the clouds themselves; he felt himself suffocating, and his vision tunneled.

Instinctively, he spread his arms and legs as far apart as he could, slowing his descent and stopping his erratic movement; soon, he was facing the earth, now mere seconds away from impact. He prayed silently, gritting his teeth, preparing for his end. Eyes closed in determination; he'd find a way to survive.

He expected the sensation of pain… the crunch of bones… but to his surprise, he was not met with any sensation at all. He could tell that his descent had stopped; the wind had ceased howling in his ears, and no longer did vicious back-drafts pound against his skull.

Was he dead? Cautiously wiggling his fingers and toes, he paused. "O-okay… I'm still alive."

He hesitantly cracked one eye open. The world blazed past beneath him; with a start, he realized that he was _flying. _Flying! Like a hawk, proudly soaring through the vast and empty skies, fast and powerful. He laughed in that moment, both in relief and excitement.

However, he then realized that he couldn't control where he flew. He was heading East, he knew, judging by the position of the sun and the landmarks passing beneath him. Any second now, he would converge on the village of Konoha.

The voice chose this moment to speak again. It was eerie… unfamiliar… tainted. It was as if three people were speaking at once – a man, a woman, and a child. He shuddered as it spoke_._

"_The creator of all, the Masked One, sought to preserve the balance of nature. "_ It whispered, its smooth tone belying none of the power that lay within. "The Masked One_ had created the planet, along with all of its inhabitants, from pure mana – the essence of the universe. "_

It was if his mind were opened to the universe itself. A thousand sensations exploded within him; things he had never felt before, nor seen. The very thoughts and memories of all the wildlife beneath him seemed to flood, unbeckoned, before his closed eyelids.

He saw a mother bear, teaching her young how to fish. He _felt_ her grasping her prey, a ripe salmon, in her meaty palms, and the feeling of the midday sun warming her dusky brown fur. He _felt_ a young stag running wildly through the forest, the beating of its heart completely in sync with his. He _saw_ through a snake's eyes… or was it the snake's tongue? The sensations overwhelmed, and yet completely entranced Naruto. It was as though a whole side of existence – full of mystery, excitement, and simple joys – had been made aware to his eyes.

Turning his gaze to his left, his eyes widened in surprise. Alongside him flew a bald eagle, crowing in the throes of the hunt. It sharply banked away, descending upon its soon-to-be-dinner. Naruto watched in awe as it attained incredible speed, before vanishing beneath the treetops.

For the first time in what felt like years, he let the ghost of a true smile flicker across his face. The sensation… it was breathtaking. The stars must have aligned that day; reveling in the majesty of the natural world, he felt whole. Complete. He had no idea who this 'Masked One' was, but he felt a rush of gratitude. The god did existence a service by creating life on earth.

"_However…"_ spoke the voice, with a downcast tone. Naruto tensed, preparing for the worst.

Nothing could prepare him for what he would see next.

He had cleared the borders of the forest, and was now flying over Konoha… but it was not the village that received him.

Where Konoha should have been, a decimated battlefield lay in wait. The earth was sundered, massive craters marring its surface; the scent of old and fresh blood lingered, hinting at devastating conflict. The few trees that remained had withered and died long ago, the ground beneath dried into stone and sand. In the distance, the blond man could see soldiers engaged in armed combat. Simple tools – hammers, axes, knives– tools to _create_ – became weapons of destruction, redesigned to cause as much pain and bloodshed as _inhumanly_ possible.

"_When the Masked One created man, she realized that she had made a mistake; their greed, their lust, their sheer rage had unbalanced the planet's energy."_ Naruto opened his mouth to refute such a statement, but suddenly, he _felt _it; he _felt_ the anger of the soldiers below, spreading like a disease that threatened to suffocate all life. It was a foreign feeling… like someone had taken hot glue and poured it into his heart, content to sit back and watch him shudder in agony.

"_The earth was at war with itself, tearing apart that which the Masked One took such pride in creating. Fire consumed all things; bloody warfare and death plagued the earth's inhabitants. Hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and tornadoes battled for dominion over the newly-birthed world, threatening to destroy all that the Masked One had made. _

_Mankind was on the brink of extinction, slowly beginning to realize what they had done._

_All life suffered."_

Naruto watched thousands of years of evolution within a single second. Hammers evolved into swords; swords became guns, and guns became cannons. Man's capacity to create and improve had been turned upon itself, and rather than foster life, it seemed as though man were predestined to invent new ways to kill. The seas were turned brown with the foul taint of their machines; the skies rained ash, and the earth itself could hold no life. Corrupted by destruction in the name of politics, religion, and simple _hate_, the world was reshaped. No life could be sustained; slowly, what little remained of the human race began passing away, unable to support itself in a world that couldn't provide.

And then… a spark of light appeared in the distance.

A figure approached, towering over Naruto. She stood side-by-side with the ninja, not even registering his presence. Elegant robes of animal hides and leather wrapped around her tightly, as though bound in love's embrace, decorated with beads of animal bone. Vines curled through her thick, black hair, and her bare feet seemed coated in a permanent layer of dirt. She was powerfully built – the epitome of primal grace – and despite her confident appearance, her face was hidden behind a tribal mask of some sort. It was made of thin wood, painted purple and white, and stylized in the shape of a lion. The blond ninja leaned forward, trying to peer into the being's eyes, as though to judge its intentions; however, there were no eyes behind the mask, only an eerie green glow.

"_The Masked One knew that a solution would be required. She realized that it was by her own hand that the world was on the brink of collapse. And so, she knew that there was only one solution to the plight that gripped the world in its malignant clutches. She divided her power up into fragments – known as the Krazoa Spirits – to maintain the balance of chakra throughout the world. The oceans were freed of their taint; the earth ceased its shuddering; the winds became pure; the monstrous volcanoes slumbered."_

The being before him grabbed her mask tightly. With a sharp snap, it fractured into tiny pieces. The tiny slivers of wood – seemingly insignificant – suddenly burst to life with primal energy. With a shrill cry, similar to that of fireworks, the mask fragments spread out in different directions, disappearing over the horizon within seconds.

"_However, with her spirit fractured, she could no longer perform divine acts. The Masked One gave up her power as a god to ensure that peace reigned across the world." _

The woman vanished; her body dissolved into white light, which spread across the surface of the earth, seeping deep into the wilderness.

"_But she knew one thing for certain: the peace would not last. And when the world threatened to unbalance itself, she would no longer be there to prevent its destruction."_

One sliver of wood did not depart with the others; it hung before Naruto, spinning with a mind of its own. Suddenly, it glowed, emitting a light more powerful than any of the others. The blond man shielded his eyes, as the explosion of bright purple light rendered him senseless.

When he opened his eyes, two beings stood before him. Both were the same height as he; however, their similarities ended at that. The first, a male, was broad-shouldered and lupine in appearance. Wicked-looking canines smiled softly, and yellow-tinted eyes opened in curiosity at the world around him. His short, curly tail twitched lightly in the cool breeze. He was naked, save for the fur that preserved his modesty, and he looked to his left, eyeing his partner.

The second, was distinctly female in nature; she was covered in a layer of feather-soft fur, her slitted pupils filled with peace. She, too, was naked, a long, thin tail protruding from the small of her lower back. She smiled at her partner, her enlarged canines glinting in the sunlight, as she grasped the wolf-man's hand. Eagerly, he returned her grip, and the two lovers ran, side-by-side, into the wilderness.

Naruto smiled, touched by the sight. He could almost picture himself and Krystal like that… suddenly, he paused, a hammer-blow striking at his desire. He eyed his bare hands, his tanned, scarred fingers bare of fur or claws.

…He wasn't like her. Unless a miracle occurred, he would never be. Perhaps that was why she was so hesitant to open up to him?

His thought were interrupted as the voice spoke again.

"_In her final moments, she created the Cerinians. Beings in the shape of man, with his cunning and intellect, but with a deep connection to nature. Beings that could feel the world around them, hear the thoughts of other creatures, and taste the power that flowed through all things. They were to be her representatives: guardians of balance, protectors of nature, and the advisors of mankind. "_

_And so, life continued. _

_Having learned from his mistakes, Man had turned from his wicked ways, and the world could live in an era of peace. The rulers of the mortal world recognized the importance of nature, taking great strides to preserving the balance. Though wars and conflicts did occur, as all negative things do, they were brief and quickly resolved; the mortals had learned the secrets to balance, and because of this, mankind flourished."_

Naruto watched them multiply, and silently observed as the spirit's words were proven right. Where mankind had once been struggling to survive, he was blessed with ten times as much prosperity as before. Within a few hundred years, mankind had recovered; civilizations pockmarked the entire world. New discoveries and new technologies became a daily occurrence; mankind had reached the peak of its progress, and reveled in its successes.

"_After seeing their charge embrace the calling of the Masked One, the Cerinian people withdrew into the deep forests. There, they communed with the Masked One's spirits, seeking further knowledge of the world around them. _

_However, after a short few hundred years, the existence of the Cerinians faded into legend, and without their example to live by, Mankind began to forget the lessons it learned in the past. Fires of heavy industry burned once again; evil lurked over the horizon, and the world began to drown in conflict once more. __Man's heart, away from nature, became hard."_

The blond man opened his eyes at the sound of an explosion. He found himself standing on a grassy knoll overlooking a forest . Standing alone, he was greeted by silence, save for the singing of raindrops as they heavily peppered the earth. Distantly, thunder rumbled; a large flash of light appeared in the distance, well beyond his range of sight. He blinked the water from his eyes, as he stared into the distance.

It was dark. Far too dark for his liking.

Suddenly, bushes rustled to his right. Cerinians of all shapes, colors, and sizes ran past him, exotic-looking weapons clasped tightly in their hands. There must have been ten of them, a small war party. Their bodies were decorated in tribal war paint, wearing no protection save what mother nature had provided them. They dashed through the darkness, unimpeded; the group, comprised of both males and females, ran as though chased by demons.

"_Hurry!"_ One shouted, his voice distorted by the rainfall. It was a large ox, his meaty hands wrapped around a large mace. A ring made of animal bone was set in his nostrils, and his braided hair whipped wildly in the freezing winds.

The ox gestured wildly with his mace, in the direction of the flashes of light. _"We have to protect the village!" _He yelled, his voice filled with desperation and rage.

Naruto, hearing the ox's words, decided to give chase to the group. As he followed them at a fevered pace, the voice spoke to him once more.

"_When humans had first rediscovered the Cerinian civilization, residing in the woods in self-imposed exile, their first reaction was to destroy. The guardians of balance were seen as monsters – abominations, practitioners of black magic – and were unjustly feared by mankind."_

Naruto and the warrior troop emerged from the trees unto a hellish scene. Naruto quickly realized two things: he had mistaken fire for lightning, and he had mistaken thunder for _bombs_. The scent of ash, fresh blood, and burning flesh filled his nostrils, choking him; his legs grew weak, and his eyes watered at the hellish stench.

What once had been a peaceful village was now set ablaze. Simple wooden huts, containing naught but personal possessions and memories, were burnt to ashes. Distantly, the wails of women and children echoed into the night, their voices heavy with pain, barely discernable above the heavy rainfall.

Naruto walked through the burnt village in a daze, the oblivious soldiers around him doing the same. Such destruction…

Then, he found the bodies.

Naruto nearly vomited, a sickening bile rising In his throat. What _madness_ had possessed men to do _this_! As he walked through the cities, more and more appeared. As a ninja, he was used to seeing death… but this, this hardly qualified as _death_. It was a _massacre_.

He could see the corpse of a little girl – a feline, in her early years – dressed in a pink nightgown, holding a handmade doll tightly to her chest, both herself and the toy impaled by a l_ongsword_ into her own _bed_. Next to her, lay what appeared to have been her brother. The boy, slightly older and larger than his younger sister, was holding her protectively, one arm looped over her chest. He was face down on the bed, blood staining the sheets beneath him, his opposite hand underneath his stomach.

He'd died, _protecting_ his little _sister_… he'd _died… protecting…_

_Who would do such a thing? Who would take innocent life in such a manner?_

Tears sprung to Naruto's eyes, but he didn't look away; he couldn't look away. He refused to disrespect the dead children, even as the lumbering Ox from earlier approached Naruto from behind, his eyes captivated by the sight as well.

Silence reigned supreme for the briefest of moments. And then, a wailing moan pierced the blanket of tense silence that had once hung over the two; the ox, sobbing, fell to his knees, rage and sadness indiscriminately pouring from him. A dam of emotion raged forth, at the sight of the dead young ones.

_The Ox – or was it Naruto? - roared in agony, his very cries seeming to shake the earth beneath his feet. His fists pounded heavily on the floor, cries of vengeance and oaths of hatred sworn upon the killers of his children._

"_My son! My beautiful daughter!" He roared, hysteria and madness bleeding into his voice. "My children! MY CHILDREN!" His cries attracted the rest of his troop, who stood in silent agony as their companion mourned the deaths of his young._

Naruto couldn't think. He was numb, and so pained, both at the same time; his emotions were a whirlwind of sadness, confusion, and hatred. He was dead to he world, his eyes glazed over with all that he had seen.

"_The Cerinians, a peaceful people, were immediately overrun by their crazed invaders. They were protectors and preservers of the natural world, not fighters. The few that could fight, despite being powerful enough to level mountains, were overwhelmed by sheer numbers; one by one, Cerinian villages hidden across the world were purged, until only one remained: the stronghold of the Western Forest, the Krazoa Palace."_

In his mind's eye, Naruto pictured scenes of blood and chaos; whole villages, most of them unarmed, falling before the onslaught of men like sheaves of grain before a scythe. Whole cultures were erased from existence, the last of their children slain in cold blood.

One of the battles in particular caught his attention.

A raid was performed on a Cerinian fishing village, during the middle of a cool spring day. The village itself was both sacred and neutral ground; no warriors were within the village walls, and the population was composed entirely of the elderly and their children. It was a peaceful place…

The village was ransacked and torched, as the others had been. However, in the daylight, Naruto was able to make out the faces of the attackers. He thought he recognized a few of them; gasping, his eyes caught sight of the one person he least expected to see.

His old teacher, with shockingly white hair now bloodstained, stood over the body of an injured lynx. The woman had a decidedly broken leg and a puncture wound in her shoulder, preventing her from fleeing. She was panting heavily, groaning in pain, barely aware of the man standing above her.

The white-haired killer wiped his knife clean of the woman's lifeblood, lifting his headband to expose his long demonic eye.

"_I'm going to remember this day…"_ his sensei whispered, as the knife descended once more.

There was something _familiar_ about that knife…

The woman's life was ended, and the murderer fled in pursuit of his next victim. The blond ninja remained where he stood, eyes wide in shock.

He was beyond sadness at this point. No, pure _rage_ was the only escape his emotions could muster. His eyes narrowed in anger, tears building up at their edges; fingers twitched at his sides in agitation. He bowed his head, his short bangs overshadowing his eyes ominously.

The dagger his sensei held… _it was the same one that had nearly ended his life._

"_Kakashi…"_ he intoned, the name escaping his lips as a promise, rather than a curse. A promise, that the man who had wronged him would die. Slowly. Painfully. He'd make sure of it.

The voice chose that moment to speak again, seeing that it had driven its point home.

"_When mankind approached, expecting an easy fight, the Cerinians gathered the last of their fighters and prepared a strong line of defense. The battle lasted for days on end; similar to the battle of Thermopylae, what few Cerinians remained managed to hold off the ever-increasing number of humans for days on end._

_However, as time passed, they began to tire. After all, they were only mortal. Slowly, the Cerinians fell to the ceaseless onslaught of man; their forests burned, smoke blotting out the sun for miles in every direction._

_It was a tragedy. The last line of defense against corruption… gone. Their ashes cast to the four winds, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition by those that understood them not._

_All of the Cerinians fell… all of them, but one."_

This time, his vision felt different… as though he were seeing it through someone else's eyes, rather than from a spectator's position.

The Krazoa Palace was destroyed before his very eyes; however, a minor temple, hidden within the Western Forest, was untouched by the conflict. In order to preserve the last of their line, two Cerinians – a red-furred vixen and an aged panther - journeyed to the isolated temple, their daughter in tow. She must have been under four years old, her blue-gray eyes wide in excitement, not fully understanding their situation.

The trio hastily descended the temple's steps, emerging in the same chamber that Naruto fought Krystal in. However, there were fewer tombs inside; in all likelihood, the conflict hadn't reached its finish yet. The soldiers had bought this couple time, so that their journey would be unimpeded by the human contingents.

The father brought his loving daughter into a tender embrace, his wife doing the same.

"_My daughter… we love you very much. You know that, don't you?" _Whispered the panther, his arms trembling as he held his daughter softly within his grasp.

"_Yes, father,"_ replied the vixen in his arms, as she giggled and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

Hesitantly, the panther relaxed his grip, handing his daughter over to his mate. The vixen picked up her daughter, smiling, despite the tears threatening to burst forth from her eyes. She hugged her only daughter, her progeny, her mirror image, rubbing circles into the young vixen's blue fur.

"_We'll always be with you…"_ the mother intoned. _"But you need to sleep for now."_

"_What?"_ The young vixen questioned, her brow furrowed in confusion. _"It's still light outside, mother."_

"_No, it isn't…"_ replied the older vixen, her eyes blank, as she mentally prepared herself for what she had to do. _"It hasn't been bright outside for some time now."_

With a gentle kiss to her daughter's forehead, the young vixen immediately fell into a deep sleep, supported by her father's arms. Together, the mother and father placed their daughter inside a large crystal, one that lay suspended in the center of the temple. If Naruto remembered correctly, it was the same crystal that would later be shattered, its remains scattered about the temple floor. Judging by the population of the tombs, however, it would be some time before that occurred.

"_I hope you'll forgive us, someday…'_ whispered the father, peering through the crystal's depths at the sight of his daughter, imprisoned in the world of dreams. _"This crystal – your new home, and your namesake – will protect you from the influences of man. This temple is hidden by the Masked One; hopefully, you will awaken in a brighter future, where man has learned the error of his ways, an era of peace."_

Naruto gasped, opening his eyes. The vision had ended; he could feel himself returning to reality once more. It was like waking from a deep sleep, his dreams still dancing through his mind, befuddling his most basic thoughts. He was blinded by rage and sadness, unable to think rationally; it took a moment to gather himself, a moment he didn't have.

Krystal stood above him, staff poised to strike, eyes boring down inquisitively. Half-sleep, Naruto reacted solely on instinct, in tandem with his raging emotions; in a brutal flash of movement, Krystal's staff was thrown from her hands, rolling end-over-end before skittering across the cool stone floor. Before she could even register his movement, he stood in front of her, a kunai knife held inches from her face.

She didn't even flinch, she was so surprised; performing mind arts on the blond, coupled with their brief battle beforehand, had left her both physically and mentally drained. She doubted she could even perform basic telepathy, let alone retrieve her staff in time to parry an attack. The knife hung at her throat like a serpent, promising a quick and painful death. In response, the blue-furred vixen hardened her eyes, standing proudly as the steel blade waited anxiously. Her life had lasted long enough. Most of it had been spent in isolation, hoping for mankind's return to sanity… hoping to return to her people. Sadly, she found herself, once again, inches away from death.

At the very least, she would be fulfilling one of her goals.

"Finish it." She intoned, her voice devoid of all emotion. She had wounded her opponent, fighting with everything she had; and yet, she had let her guard down. In that moment, her seemingly defeated opponent had capitalized on her weakness, acting with speed incongruent with his condition.

The technique she'd used upon was a form of inception, coupled with an Empathy Burst – she had implanted her own memories, along with a brief history of her people, into the young man's mind, allowing him to feel exactly what she felt. Though the emotions weren't his own, they would resonate with his, turning his own imagination into a weapon to be used against him. Victims of the Empathy Burst often lost their will to fight, or became lost within the false memories, unable to function for long periods of time. It was a technique rarely applied, and for good reason: it completely drained the caster, and had the potential to break the victim.

However, the blond man before her reacted differently. Rather than submitting to her will, if anything, he had fed off of her emotions. He stood with speed and strength not his own, awakening as soon as the technique had ended. What sort of _creature _was he? How could _anyone_ take the full brunt of her telepathic attacks and bounce back?

She bared her throat defiantly, awaiting the sharp prick that signified the end of her life.

However, the blond blinked rapidly; he slowly lowered the knife, until its tip rested at his side. The blade fell from between his fingers, clattering to the floor, the steel ringing loudly in the untainted silence of the tomb.

Krystal hesitated, confusion making itself known within her breast. What was he doing? Wasn't he going to kill her?

The two paused, eyes locked, silently waiting for the tension to break. Then, the blond stepped forward, pulling Krystal into a gentle hug.

She tried backing away at first, suspecting some kind of trick; slowly, however, she felt the battle stress catching up with her. Her shaking legs, worn with miles of running and aching from the loss of adrenaline, gave way beneath her. The blond man supported her, rubbing circles on her back… like her mother used to do.

"You still think I want to kill you?" The blond whispered, deepening their embrace.

"…_Dumbass."_ He breathed, smiling softly as the vixen rested her tired head on his shoulder.

It was then that Krystal had a moment of realization, as she felt herself falling asleep. Naruto… he wasn't like the others. During the weeks they had spent together, when he had told her that he would follow her forever, she hadn't trusted him, doubting his every word. Everything he said had been twisted within her mind; she had laughed him off, ignoring the _spirit_ within, instead focusing on the fact that he was a _human_.

She had no doubt that he could have killed her within seconds of their fight beginning. He had let her go… because he _didn't want to kill her_. The thought was mind boggling. A human meeting a Cerinian… and no blood was shed? Such was an event that hadn't occurred in hundreds of years.

Only now, did she realize the truth. Though he was human in appearance, his soul was another matter entirely. He reminded her of home; of the life her people had, before their war. He was powerful, and yet peaceful; like a true Cerinian warrior, he valued life and love above all else, preserving balance even at the cost of injury.

As she fell asleep, she absently thought, '_I could fall for someone like that…_

* * *

**A/N: A Brief Message From Fell**

I had a beta-reader for the previous chapters, but for personal reasons she has decided not to continue her efforts. This story means a lot to me, and I'd like it to remain as clean as possible, in terms of storyline and quality of writing.

That being said, I may still be looking for a new Beta-Reader… any and all advice on the story is appreciated; however, I have quite a bit of the story planned out already, and will not make unnecessary changes if they affect the story's tone.

I appreciate the advice and criticism given in reviews. **Cerberusx, **your input has been very helpful. I realize that the story has been progressing rather slowly; hopefully, more frequent updates and a bit more detail will address your concerns as to the pace of the story. I can't say any more than that; I don't want to give away spoilers as to the story's outcome.

Suffice to say, there will be many more updates in the future. I have twenty more chapters planned out already, and am writing at a breakneck pace, now that I am available.

I'm not the type to review-whore; that being said I look forward to reading any and all reviews. They are half of the fun of writing; I take great pride in knowing that people appreciate my work enough to spend a few minutes writing a critique. I'm even more pleased to know that so many people have given this story a shot, despite its odd genre.

On a side note, this story capped **6,000 **hits yesterday. Here's hoping those 6,000 hits were well-received.

Here's to the future.

_Fell The Tempest_


	10. Death's Verdict

It had been four months since Inuzuka Kida had been promoted.

Four months... that felt like four _years._

Joining Konoha's Black Ops division, otherwise known as the ANBU, had excited him at first. The sight of one of its members – dressed completely in black, wearing a stylized animal mask, constantly reeking of contained power – was something that had always enthralled Kiba. The prospect of actually _joining_ the elite squad was one of his life's dreams; one that he'd pursued as soon as it was made available to him.

And he was already regretting it. Only two weeks after enrolling did he realize the truth: newcomers in the Black Ops program were dumped on, given all of the routine assignments that ninja as a whole had grown to loathe.

Take patrolling, for example. Despite being one of the most secure, structurally sound villages in the entire Elemental Countries, Konoha felt the constant need to send out _unnecessary_ patrols; Black Ops members, of course, were routinely selected for the task. A single member could conceal their presence better than an entire squad, and their higher skill levels guaranteed longer survival in conflicts.

Effectively… they were scouts. Looking at _trees._

_All. Damn. Day._

These were the thoughts running through Kiba's head, as he leapt through the treetops on Konoha's outskirts. He was assigned to his usual patrol – five miles west of Konoha, traveling in an arc that took three hours for a round-trip jog.

The bugs swarmed him incessantly, threatening to bleed him dry, and the sun remained high in the cloudless sky, threatening to boil him alive.

He had to run that route three times a day, five days a week… and then spend the next two hours every day filling out paperwork, detailing everything that he had seen. Which, as per usual, was _jack shit_. Trees, trees, and more trees. The occasional bird. If he was _lucky_, he might spot a herd of wild deer. And the pay was horrible; it was like living on D-Ranked missions all over again.

He was getting _sick_ of patrol duty; he spent more time in the woods than he did with his own _family_, for god's sake. And he was only nineteen!

'_Damn, I feel old…' _he griped, as his legs ached for rest. as he spotted a cool wellspring in the distance.

He approached it and knelt by its edge, deciding to take a five-minute break. There wasn't any point in killing himself over patrol duty, right? No one would notice if he showed up a couple minutes late… and at any rate, he'd forgotten his canteen back at the Black Ops complex.

Dehydration stood a better chance of killing him than anything in the _goddamned_ forest. He chuckled at the thought.

He knelt beside the crystal clear pool, sighing as he shrugged his pack onto the forest floor. Removing his porcelain mask, he drank his fill of the water, enjoying the pure taste; as liquid bliss traveled down his throat, he felt rejuvenated by its icy cool touch. Brushing his mouth with his forearm to wipe away the excess water, he then wet his hands and ran them through his thick, matted hair. He always felt refreshed after doing so; and no matter what anyone said, he was pretty sure he did _not_ smell like wet dog afterwards. And if he did… oh well. There were more important things in life to worry about than how he smelled.

The scruffy-haired ninja sat, enjoying a moment's respite from his daily duty. He leaned heavily on his haunches, staring at his own reflection in the water, lost in thought.

He ached for combat; though patrol was certainly an excellent workout, he would rather be sparring with his teammates, entranced by the heat of battle. Kiba was a born and bred fighter; trained since birth, it was only natural that he would have a strong lust for battle. Such was ingrained into his blood.

His family, the Inuzuka Clan, was known for being more aware of their animal instincts than others. Simply put, to be an Inuzuka was like having the mind of a man and the soul of a wolfhound. Their reflexes were faster; their senses, sharper; their mentality, much more physical.

Trained Inuzuka members were said to be able to hear a pin drop in a sandstorm, and spot it from two hundred yards away. It was a reputation proven time and time again, as the Inuzuka clan flourished within Konoha.

Unfortunately, the Inuzuka clan was not favorably looked upon by the greater majority of Konoha's citizens; its members were viewed as beasts of labor, rather than respectable warriors, due to their wilder personalities and their animalistic behavior.

Rumors had it that the Inuzuka clan used to be comprised of shamans… warriors able to bridge the gap between the physical and spiritual worlds, interacting with nature's avatars. Prophets of the gods, that would deliver judgment down upon those who slighted creation; beings able to draw upon the power of the Wild itself and perform amazing feats.

However, those rumors were seldom whispered anymore… and if they had been based in truth, such was not recorded.

Rumors aside, the Inuzuka fighting style, coupled with extrasensory abilities handed down from generation to generation, gave its members an incredible edge in battle... and even moreso in tracking. While using said techniques did have drawbacks, such as sensory overload, Kiba was renowned as a progeny of his clan; he was able to use his family techniques with few aftereffects, and enhance them beyond the norm.

To ensure that he wasn't being watched, or otherwise monitored, Kiba had been enhancing his senses with chakra since he began his route.

Eyes opened quickly, as something abnormal suddenly caught Kiba's attention… and interestingly enough, he smelled it before he saw it.

The ninja's nostrils flared as the distinct aroma of fox penetrated his sensory haze. Such creatures were extremely uncommon in Konoha's forests, having been hunted for sport, and… for _other _reasons. Furthermore, the smell was extremely potent, hinting at multiple animals, perhaps a small family.

However, the scent of foxes was not what unsettled him; it was the sheer level of chakra that _flooded _the air, as though an invisible dam had burst forth. The feel of the chakra, heavy and suffocating, yet lighthearted – coupled with the smell of fox – reminded him of someone…

Naruto?

He sharply inhaled, his eyes widening in surprise. Naruto – a fellow ninja, one of his peers in both age and station, as well as a close friend – had disappeared almost a month ago, after a night on patrol had gone awry. Weeks of fruitless searches turned up nothing, save for a few scraps of cloth bearing his scent and a massive pool of diluted blood in Konoha's Red Light district. No body was recovered, although Kiba had a sneaking suspicion that there wasn't much of a search effort.

He'd noticed very quickly that few people actually wanted to search for the blond; of those, the greater majority simply wanted to… _confirm _his death. He'd realized such when he returned from patrol early, and overheard two of his brothers-in-arms spouting hateful drivel, using the missing blond as their target.

Kiba suddenly realized that the masks these men wore weren't just for show; people could say what they wanted to when their faces were hidden, and apparently, these men felt that the 'demon' should be purged from Konoha. Their words were impassioned, honest, and downright _disgusting._

The sight left a sick taste in his mouth whenver he thought about it. Naruto was a comrade-in-arms, having given more to save the village in his short life than anyone he could think of. More than that, the blond was like a _brother _to him, having saved his ass more times than he could count.

So it was no surprise to anyone that he'd personally led a team of fellow scouts on an investigation, using his enhanced senses in hopes of tracking down the missing blond. Their initial goal was the recovery of the blond, or at the very last, his body. If the blond had truly perished, they were to track down his killer. Kiba had started his investigation swiftly and decisively, covering as much ground as he could; he would work long nights searching for the blond, despite his teammates telling him to return home and rest.

However, his efforts were in vain; due to heavy rainfall the night of Naruto's disappearance, most of the evidence had been contaminated or washed away. Even the blonde's scent had been impossible to track, so body recovery was made impossible. Time had passed, and since no leads had appeared, the ANBU captain had abruptly ordered him to scrap the project.

It was with a heavy heart that Kiba had been forced to abandon his investigation, under penalty of suspension from the ANBU.

Kiba snarled at the thought of his new _'leader'_. The crippled old man was utterly emotionless, uncaring for the lives of his own soldiers. He'd blackmailed and manipulated his way into the position, if rumor was anything to go by… and personally, he'd long thought that the man's bandages were tied on a little too tight.

Kiba rarely held a grudge… but he honestly _hated_ their newest leader with a righteous passion.

He was smart enough not to say so, though. Speaking such heavy criticism would be equivalent to signing his own death warrant. The man was seedy and untrustworthy, striking friend and foe alike when the situation best suited him…

Shrugging off the malevolent thoughts of his leader, the scruffy-haired ninja focused on the task at hand. He quickly concealed his presence, donned his Dog-styled mask, and ran silently through the trees, his extraordinary senses focused on finding the source of his discontent.

It was with barely repressed excitement that he bolted through the forest, the foliage doing very little to impede his path. Now that he was closer, he could pick up more than just the scent of his target; the faint aromas of ash and sweat were mixed in with that of fox. Perhaps there had been a battle of some sort?

The scent –Naruto? – was close at hand, close enough that he could almost taste the chakra that seemed to _flood _the air.

He found himself in the center of a vast clearing, trees hundreds of feet away, forming a near-perfect circle around him; he vacillated from foot to foot, his eyes quickly scanned the clearing's borders, hoping to catch sight of his quarry.

_There. _In a gap between bushes, rustled by the gentle breeze, he picked out a momentary flash of blue and black. His target was moving at high speed, on a path perpendicular to his own. Whatever it was, it was no animal… it was moving far too fast, contained too much energy, and was too oddly colored to be natural.

He abandoned his guise of stealth, pumping chakra into his legs and tearing up the earth in pursuit of the target.

He felt his target respond within seconds; the thick chakra, that had minutes before flooded his senses, suddenly _vanished_ without a trace. It was a good thing he didn't rely on chakra sensory to track his targets… if he did, he'd no longer be able to pursue his target.

Kiba was a trained tracker, using both his knowledge of the environment and his extrasensory abilities to hunt his prey, rather than sensing their flow of chakra. Years of patient practice, coupled with his family's secret techniques, blessed him with abilities second-to-none in his field. He was revered as one of the village's top hunters, and was teased often by his friends and allies for being 'more dog than human'.

However, his target –whatever it was – had hampered with his efforts. As he gave chase, he found several decoys thrown about – false prints, disturbed leaves, and even a tripwire or two. Kiba's brow furrowed in agitation; he knew for certain that the being he was tailing was no animal… but he couldn't manage to catch it.

He realized that his target must know him personally. The traps were customized for him, he could tell; unlike the ordinary diversions left by a pursued shinobi, these were much more complex and tailored to his few weaknesses as a tracker. The false prints his target left, were strategically placed… they were realistic enough to be believable, causing him to make wrong turns and occasionally overlook the actual trail. The tripwires and decoys that were left behind, on the other hand, were easily avoidable; that being said, they also made him pause, and cost him valuable time, increasing the distance between himself and his target.

At the same time, his target wasn't using lethal force. The tripwires were simply that; thin lengths of pseudo-steel ninja wire strung between two points. The cables were smooth, unlike standard issue wire, which was covered in tiny razor-sharp edges. A skilled ninja would be able to set up such a trap within seconds, had they the necessary materials… obviously, his prey did; and yet, he went to no lengths in making use of them.

It _had_ to be Naruto. It just _had_ to be.

Slowly, he became aware of a sound, as the colossal maples surrounding him thickened. It was a dull, throbbing roar; like that of a hurricane, or a train ominously approaching In the distance. Breaching the forest border, his eyes narrowed as he took in his surroundings.

Above him, towered a large waterfall, connected with a series of mountains that bordered Konoha's forests to the southwest. Heavy torrents of melted snow crashed loudly into the waiting basin below, the sound echoing loudly in his ears. The basin, in turn, fed the rivers that wound through the entirety of Konoha's forest .

Kiba cursed at the sight, and quickly ceased the flow of chakra to his ears, shutting off his enhanced hearing abilities. His prey had eluded him; suppressing his chakra, hiding both his scent and sound… the only reliable way to follow his trail was by sight. At this point, the ninja he was chasing would be long gone.

Kiba sighed heavily, kneading his brow between tense fingers. He had_ never _lost a mark, ever since the day he was first initiated into Konoha's military; this would be the first time that any target had eluded his grasp in the past seven years.

He scowled, crossing his arms in frustration. He had lost his target, and he had a route to patrol; turning abruptly on his heels, he opted to return to his duty, rather than stand idly as Konoha's borders remained unguarded. With that thought in mind, the forest swallowed him once more, and he lost himself among its depths, keeping a sharp eye out for any other unusual disturbances.

That night, as he filled out his mission report, he would mention his sighting in explicit detail; everything from the depth and feel of his target's chakra, down to his analysis of his target's psyche and the overpowering scent of fox that seemed to permeate the air. The report would send up a series of hidden red flags, and in less than ten minutes, would arrive on the desk of the newly instated ANBU captain.

The older man, swathed in linen bandages, held his subordinate's report between listless fingers. His single undamaged eye skimmed the paper with cleverly disguised interest, and as he finished reading, he paused for a moment in silent contemplation.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers; the sound echoed around his office ominously. Heads turned abruptly; silence reigned.

In less than a second, his contact appeared. A younger man, though no less cunning, with shockingly white hair that stood above his head in thick spikes. He was dressed in standard ANBU attire, just like the rest of the people in the Black Ops; however, he stood apart from the rest. Unlike the others in the office, frozen in both fear and morbid curiosity, he stood relaxed, at ease… his posture and casual appearance screaming controlled insanity. His eyes – one a rich, chocolate brown, the other scarred and tainted by the blood of _demons_ – narrowed in question at the elderly captain.

He knew the request that would come. The question was, who would his target be?

Danzo placed a wrinkled hand upon his desk, gently pushing the recently-minted report towards his charge.

"Eliminate him…" The old man intoned, his voice as decisive as an executioner's axe.

Kakashi grinned softly, the smile on his face not reaching his eyes.


	11. Over the Precipice

An alien sensation of warmth crept through her cold, aching bones. It was a strange feeling, rousing from the depths of sleep; she shivered at the foreign sensation, drawing her knees to her chest, grasping them as though they tethered her to the very earth. Her eyes were shut tightly, as though afraid of opening to discover a waking nightmare.

Demons lurked behind her closed eyelids. She was hallucinating, she knew; however, that didn't ease the fear she felt in her heart. The shadows surrounding her became bloodthirsty demons, with razor-blade teeth. The whisper of the wind as it brushed fondly against her became a torrent of unholy whispers, promising a swift demise.

"…_We are the harbingers of blood and death…"_

Her throat was bone-dry; a dull pounding within her temples drowned out all thought, as she blindly struggled against her own body. She groaned in discomfort, rolling over, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. Her hands clasped the blanket that covered her modesty with a grip of iron, winding it tightly about her figure.

Blue-gray eyes opened slowly, only to close reflexively as sharp daggers of light pierced them. Krystal grunted, sitting up quickly; suddenly, she was hit with the sensation of vertigo, so strong her head began spinning and her stomach threatened to release its meager contents. She sat still for what seemed like an eternity, lost in a haze of nausea and still half-drowning in sleep's muted embrace.

The vixen's tail twitched in agitation at the feeling of helplessness that pervaded within her. Her thoughts seemed slow and imprecise; she couldn't focus long enough to form a coherent sentence, let alone use telepathy. Her eyes, though closed, burned as beams of ambient light pierced them viciously; covering them with her forearm did little to relieve the pain, and the effort to move was too great to bother. Her breathing echoed slowly and painfully in her ears, like the cry of a wild banshee.

"Ngh…" She grunted, only to recoil at the sound of her own voice. It was scratchy from disuse; the effort to speak was far too great, opting her to return to silence once more.

Then, her ears picked up another sound; the rustle of cloth, close by. She heard a distant voice; it seemed to fade in and out, as though it spoke from within the depths of the earth itself. Taken by surprise, Krystal leapt to her feet, ready to fight; however, her body failed her once again. A stab of pain lanced up her fight side, and she hissed in agony; her legs buckled, and she toppled quickly, as though a puppet with its strings cut. No sound escaped her lips; she was far too dazed to scream.

Thankfully, her silent prayers were answered; rather than hitting the earth, she was supported by another person. Cracking open bleary eyes, the blue-furred vixen bore the pain for just a moment, observing her savior.

Blonde hair, like a second sun… ethereal blue eyes that captivated her own… whisker-like scars on his cheeks, awe-inspiring yet primal in nature… broad shoulders that seemed to bear the weight of the entire world…

_Naruto. _The name echoed within her mind – her _soul_ – bringing memories of the previous day to the forefront of her mind. She _remembered_. Where was she? What was going-

"Relax. It's okay." Cooed Naruto, a soft smile playing upon his lips. He must have seen her minor panic attack, as he pulled her into a firm, yet tender embrace. Krystal relaxed into his grip, too tired to resbbist; she grunted softly, enjoying the warmth his body provided.

"Drink this." Her savior whispered, as he held something up to her lips. She tentatively opened her eyes, a rush of relief filling her as she caught sight of a water bottle dangling just within reach. She accepted the gift, recklessly draining the bottle of all its contents. She coughed haggardly as life itself traveled down her throat, restoring her energy.

"Slow down… you'll upset your stomach," the blond man chuckled, as the vixen in his arms slowed down to a more reasonable pace. The bottle was soon drained of its contents, and Krystal sighed contentedly.

They remained in that position for a few moments, neither Cerinian nor human speaking; it was a friendly, companionable silence, punctuated only by their slow breathing. Krystal felt at peace within the man's grasp; slowly, her tired eyes closed once more, and her head found its way onto his chest. Her breathing deepened, and her closed eyes didn't notice the soft smile of the man that held her.

"You've overworked yourself… you have a fever and your body needs rest." Naruto continued, his soft voice penetrating the haze cloaking her fevered mind. Krystal nodded slowly as he eased her to the floor, his hands lingering sensually on her soft belly fur. She blushed as she realized she was completely naked, save for the blanket that now lay beneath her. The sensation of his hand dipping just below her breasts sent a soft shiver through her core.

The vixen gasped at his touch, and as his hand pulled away, she groaned softly in disappointment. The blond man, upon seeing her reaction, smirked, though not unkindly.

"You're not yourself right now," he whispered, grabbing another blanket and lowering it gently over her naked form. "Just... get some sleep. Hopefully, your fever will break by morning."

As though hypnotized by his soft voice, Krystal's eyes closed once more. Her breathing slowed, and within seconds, she was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling lightly beneath the wool blanket that preserved her modesty.

Naruto sat by her bedside for a moment, smiling as he bathed in her presence.

Before she had awoken, a miasma of despair seemed to sweep through the cave - their home – and it seemed to consume his very spirit, driving him into inaction. He'd spent the past ten hours by her bedside, tending to her minor injuries and watching over her, silently cursing himself for not knowing any medicinal techniques.

However, he did know a basic examination technique, which he had promptly put to use on her unconscious form. In the ANBU, it was rudimentary technique simply known as the Tap, due to its method of application. A lone hand sign, a radial chakra pulse, and a light tap on the head of the vixen was all it took for Naruto to gain a brief understanding of her condition… and as his chakra melded with hers, he gasped in surprise.

He was _floored _by the sensation of sheer power that boiled inside of her.

Her unconscious mind was a bees' nest of activity, individual synapses firing with a speed barely seen to the human eye. Her chakra network – or at least, what he _thought_ was her chakra network - was a sight to behold; it was alight like the midnight sky during a new moon, burning with an almost ethereal intensity.

However, her chakra network was incredibly strange, in that it _didn't possess chakra_. Naruto's mind blazed intensely as he struggled to understand what he was sensing.

Normal chakra felt lighter and more erratic in its movements, like the cutting winds of a tornado. On the other hand, Krystal's energy – he wasn't sure what to call it – was entirely different.

It was a thick green mist that ebbed and flowed within her spiritual core, as heavy and precise as an ocean wave, and the smell of ozone lingered in its wake. It was astronomically dense, much moreso than anything he'd ever seen, and whereas chakra burned brightly like a morning star, this energy was calm and languid in its movement. 'Touching' a smoky wisp of her power, his eyes widened as a spark jumped from her sleeping form to his fingertip, startling him slightly.

Judging by the sheer density of the energy inside her, an army's worth of pure _power _was compressed into the unconscious vixen, and yet she remained unaffected; the blond man astonished that she was alive, let alone _in one piece._

Pulling his consciousness away from her physical injuries, he turned his attention to her mental state, activating the second stage of the Tap... melding his mind with the vixen's own.

The Tap was similar to the Yamanaka family techniques, in that the caster entered the consciousness of the target; however, the Tap only permitted observation, and was not a strong enough technique to actually affect the mind.

The sensation of mind-melding with another person was described as 'being sucked into your own stomach', a feeling the blond man had experienced before, and expected yet again. He steadied himself, took a deep breath, and entered her mind.

When the blond man merged his psyche with the unconscious vixen's, he was graced with a foreign, alien feeling; blackness flooded his vision, and he grew lightheaded. He felt as though he were being watched by a sleeping ancient, its alien presence probing at his mind with curious fingers.

Truth be told, he felt mildly guilty about invading her soul… but, he reasoned, he needed to make sure she was okay. The itching curiosity he had - that had nipped at his heels ever since he had first seen her, and had grown steadily since her mind-walking technique - had nothing to do with it.

Of course not.

Suddenly, _it _was upon him. It lashed out with incredible speed and power, snaring him in its clutch of steel. He quickly realized he was feeling the power of Krystal's unconscious mind; she was subconsciously reacting to his presence, her sheer mental strength threatening to swallow him whole.

Her psyche smothered his thoughts like a thick wool blanket; his ears were stuffed with cotton, and his own body refused to move. His vision began to swim, and he grew lightheaded, slowly tilting to one side; he felt his consciousness waning, and as panic flooded his veins, he forced his weakened body to move.

Reacting quickly to the perceived threat, he released a strong chakra pulse, releasing her unconscious mind's hold on his own. Quickly, he pulled away from the vixen, panting as though he had run a marathon.

Her mind was definitely _not _normal.

He stared down at the unconscious vixen in hesitation and confusion; what he had seen… it was impossible. There was no way his observations could be true; and yet… he was forced to accept reality. Within moments of completing the Tap, he'd uncovered new information that had shocked him to the core.

The first of which was that her abilities _didn't use chakra_, for the simple reason that she _didn't have it_.

It was a difficult thing to accept; having been raised in a ninja society, he'd been under the belief that everyone, every_thing_, possessed some form of chakra: mental and physical energy, manifested into a force that could be manipulated. Krystal _should_ have been no exception; the techniques she used were fueled by her own energy, and were inherently devastating. She used them freely, to great effect; and yet, the blue-furred vixen possessed not even a _whisper_ of chakra within her _entire_ body…

The power she was using, whatever it was, was a lot more dangerous than chakra. When using chakra, if a person exhausted themselves, they would simply pass out, and their body would begin the process of recovering.

However, Krystal's situation was entirely different. She possessed an unearthly amount of energy within her; similar to Naruto, hers was incredibly potent. Rather than exhausting her energy supply – a feat which would be, in all likelihood, next to impossible – she exhausted herself trying to _control it_.

She could never lose consciousness, because the energy within her, as expansive as the world itself, _would never run out_.

So, in order to cope with the strain of holding and manipulating her own latent energies, her body began _breaking down_ in order to fuel her techniques. Simply put, she was using her mental strength to convert her _life_ to raw energy.

As long as the vixen had willpower left in her body, she could use her abilities. From what his cursory scan indicated, there was no limiter on how much power she could push into an attack, because her attacks were based on her i_magination _and her _will _to make her thoughts reality…

…which meant that using a high-powered technique, when she was exhausted, could cause her to lose her ability to contain the energy she possessed.

In short, she would _kill _herself… _and take out every living being within a half-mile radius_, if his estimation of her power correct.

It was a thought that filled Naruto with unease.

How close had she come to dying? Krystal's ears flicked softly as she dreamed, and at the sight, Naruto's eyes hardened in grim realization. She'd been unconscious for the better part of a day now, only waking for that single moment in time. When she'd collapsed, her breathing had been erratic; she'd nearly gone into cardiac arrest. She looked like a walking corpse; the strange powers she called upon during their battle had drained her to the point that she was on the verge of death. Her pulse was feather-light, and her body dropped like a heavy stone, unable to support its own weight. Blood had tricked freely from her nose, a sign of internal injury… possibly even brain hemorrhaging.

She had poured all of her mental energy into resisting him, and now she suffered for it.

It was a sight that bit deeply into his heart; he couldn't stand the mere_ thought _of Krystal throwing her life away.

When she woke up, he'd tell her not to do it again.

His thoughts shifted gears as he caught sight of their rations, now running dangerously low.

He had to prepare for her awakening. Groaning in relief, he stood, stretching his legs after hours of disuse. There were chores that needed to be done, to prepare for nightfall. Firewood was an essential; they'd exhausted their supply the previous night, and the skies were growing darker with clouds by the minute, hinting at an impending rainstorm. He'd need to retrieve some now, before their supply became waterlogged; to do any less was irresponsible on his part.

The concerned ninja let his thoughts wander, as he exited their cave and began searching for firewood. His thoughts were inevitably drawn back to the vixen; every half-hour or so, he'd loop back, follow the naturally concealed path behind the waterfall, and check up on Krystal, ascertaining her condition and maintaining a constant vigil at her bedside.

Slowly but surely, a sizeable stack of firewood accumulated in their home; they would have enough fuel to last for a night or two, before a return run was needed.

However, Naruto wasn't sure they'd even be able to _make_ another trip into the forest – at least, not for a short while. They'd been discovered by a Konoha sentry, his friend Kiba no less... and though he didn't like hiding, Krystal's survival – and possibly his own, at this point – depended on their ability to avoid detection by the nearby village.

Of course, that was easier said than done, especially since they'd been tailed to the waterfall. If Kiba were to return, bringing an adequate ninja force to inspect the area, the wizened blond had no doubts that their home would be uncovered.

When he had been chased, uncertainty had wavered in his heart; should he flee, or come clean? On the one hand, he could have revealed his presence to Kiba. After all, they were as close as brothers, and surely Kiba wouldn't have reacted violently… but what of Krystal? What would become of her, if Kiba had seen them together? Incapacitated as she was, she wouldn't be able to defend herself, let alone stand, and Kiba might have had another scout with him… one who was considerably less tolerant of 'otherworldly' matters.

In the end, he decided to err on the side of caution and lead his brother in a winding pursuit.

He loved Kiba like a brother, but he couldn't sacrifice Krystal's safety to satisfy Kiba's curiosity. Even if Kiba had been alone, if the beautiful vixen's existence had been unveiled, their secret wouldn't remain as such. The dark-haired hotshot was known for having an incredibly loose tongue, and in an organization that made its living on extracting information…

Well, telling the scruffy-haired ninja of Krystal's existence was paramount to signing her death warrant.

Their current situation frustrated him to no end. What if Kiba returned with more reinforcements? What if Krystal didn't recover?

He growled like a lion protecting his young, a deep throaty sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. Prowling softly through a clearing in the trees, he breathed deeply, venting away the rage that grew within him like a thick malaise. Fighting had awakened his blood, as well as the Fox within him. It was whispering dark things into his ears, indistinct but grim in their intent; as he closed his eyes, visions of bloodshed came to him, and his nostrils were filled with the smell of sulfur.

The demon, sealed within him at birth, was trying to manipulate him. It fed on his doubts and fears, fusing them into potent rage... and should he give in, a blind fury would consume him, bringing power, chaos and death until it lost momentum.

"…_the harbingers of blood and death…"_

A drop of rain kissed the blond's cheek gently, distracting him from his morose thoughts. He wiped it away with a curious finger, and turned his hardened gaze to the sky; a cool autumn breeze caressed his hair, and slowly, the pitter-patter of raindrops on leaves graced his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the peace brought by nature's kiss… and unlike before, visions of another's torment didn't swim behind his eyelids. He felt calm; the smell of ozone flooded his nostrils, invigorating him with an energy he couldn't express.

He frowned softly as the raindrops swiftly crushed his fears and doubts, brushing them aside as though dust in a hurricane. Memories that were not his own soothed his mind; a feeling of grim determination blazed within his soul, burning away any regret and confusion. He felt hopeless, and yet empowered; it was a sensation unlike anything that he had experienced before, save for when he was within the teeth of Death, so long ago….

Something was going to happen soon. He could _feel _it.


	12. Fear's Shadow

Steel blue orbs emerged from their slumber, observing the stalactites hanging overhead with the faintest of attentions. Ears twitched absent-mindedly, and a mouth opened slowly, issuing a mind-numbing yawn.

The mouth-watering scent of cooking meat renewed the grumbling in her stomach. With a grunt, Krystal rolled out of her sleeping bag, feet soundlessly impacting the cool stone floor beneath her. She dressed herself robotically, falling into her usual morning routine.

She was lost in thought, as her body moved on its own. Methodically, the half-asleep vixen threw on a pair of mahogany cargo pants, taking care to inch her tail through a self-made hole in the material. Grasping a short length of twine, she wound it through the belt-holes, cinching the pants around her lithe waist. She then bent over the edge of her supply crate, running one hand through her hair tiredly.

She realized, belatedly, that she had an observer. She turned her head, quickly making eye contact with her blond savior, who sat by the fire pit, a soft smirk upon his lips. What had once been a blindfold, was now wound tightly around his head in place of his old forehead protector. Clothed in sweatpants and a clean white shirt, he looked completely relaxed. In his hands, a steaming iron pan was held aloft, as though it were a child's toy.

"Good morning. You're certainly looking… _perky_ today," announced the blond man, his eyes creased softly with mirth. He chuckled, the sound giving Krystal pause. The blue-furred vixen frowned in confusion, hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised in question. Rather than receiving the satisfaction of an answer, her frown deepened as Naruto's mischievous grin grew, and it wasn't long before her tail twitched in anger.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?" She inquired, her lightly accented voice laced with frustration. Rather than responding, the blond man shook his head and snickered harder, a soft rumbling building within his chest. He shook his head in mock-dismay, an innocent smile plastered upon his face.

"Well, I knew you liked the _natural_ look, but..." his voice trailed off suggestively, and he gestured vaguely with a flick of his wrist. "You've never been so forward about it before."

The vixen blinked owlishly, uncomprehending. She hesitated, giving herself a once over… only to realize that in her haste to prepare for the morning, she'd forgotten to put on a shirt. Quickly, she crossed her arms over her firm breasts, blushing furiously. Rather than comment on her behavior, Naruto returned to his cooking with renewed vigor.

"Y-you!" Growled Krystal, covering herself in embarrassment. "What was that?" She'd never felt so embarrassed before; living on her own for her entire life, she'd never dealt with situations like this before.

"Good morning, Krystal!" replied Naruto, grinning cheekily. Facing away from the thoroughly humiliated vixen, he resumed his culinary ministrations, making a stir-fry that would last them the morning.

"You were watching me dress!" The flustered vixen exclaimed, as she took advantage of his distraction. Turning her back to the blond man, she haphazardly pawed through her supply crate once more, digging out a long-sleeved white shirt. She hastily threaded her arms through its sleeves, before pulling the soft fabric down over her ample breasts, hiding them from view.

"No, I was watching the food I'm preparing… although, I will admit, my eyes did wander. Your body is as appealing to the eyes as your voice is to the ears." Naruto replied, teasing the poor vixen relentlessly. He paused for dramatic effect, and then continued, "Relax. It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."

"What are you – oh," stammered the vixen, as unbidden memories of the previous night leapt to the forefront of her mind. She'd been feverish at the time, and he –

As Krystal blushed even harder, the blond man could no longer contain his laughter. Scandalized, the blue-furred vien stomped over to her agitator and slapped him upside the head, in hopes of shutting him up.

Her hopes were in vain; if anything, his laughter intensified.

"Relax, relax!" He chuckled, holding his hands up to ward off another assault. Satisfied, Krystal sat down next from the blond, her attention drawn once more to the steaming dish that hovered tantalizingly before her. She licked her lips in anticipation, her stomach groaning like a dying man. She hugged her stomach, blushing once more, causing Naruto to smile softly; thankfully, this time, he didn't laugh at her predicament.

It was too late for forgiveness, however. Two could play at this game. He had crossed the line; grinning wickedly, her mind was filled with plans for revenge, each more sinister than the last. She would be the victor of their little game.

Seeing her expression, Naruto swallowed thickly, his stomach filled with dread; though Krystal becoming more familiar with him, becoming seemingly more by the day, he had yet to fully understand her mannerisms. If he had to take an educated guess, he'd say her look promised pain… and maybe something else. Hopefully, his cooking could make amends.

"Here." The blond man held out a steaming bowl of fresh-cooked food to the vixen, who snatched it from his hands earnestly. Throwing manners to the wind, she devoured the food before her as though she hadn't eaten in a lifetime.

"You were really hungry, weren't you?" Inquired the stunned blond ninja, as she _drilled_ her way through five bowls of rice, herbs, and chicken. Taking a casual bite of his own dish, the two fell into a companionable silence, interrupted only by the soft clicking of silverware, and the musical whistle of wind from outside the cave.

With a wonderfully full stomach, Krystal glanced away from her dish, and was met with an intense gaze from the blond sitting across from her. It was a powerful look, filled with worry, hesitation, and… something else.

"You have questions." She stated, her jovial mood turning somber within moments. Nodding slowly, his bowl was set aside, and he folded his hands in contemplation. Her tone promised nothing; yet, the words he yearned to speak had been gnawing at his heels since the previous day.

Seconds ticked by, their passage inconsequential and unnoticed by the two occupants of the cave. Even the fire did little to hearten their mood; it was as if a dam had been broken, its oppressive waters spilling forth to drown the two in misery.

"Was it real?" The blond inquired, his once-mirthful eyes now swimming with shadow.

Krystal didn't need him to elaborate. She knew exactly what he was talking about; how could she not? Her life had been spared by that series of events… and in the blond's distant complexion, she could almost see a reflection of herself, her eyes swimming with ghosts of the pasts, with the horrors that had plagued her younger years. His eyes, like hers, were haunted by demons that knew no reprieve… and denying him the truth would only intensify his torment.

"…All of it." The vixen murmered, her gaze downcast. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping listlessly, as though they bore a great weight. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her tail around them as if to ward off an unseen chill, or perhaps to comfort her in her time of emotional distress.

"…And you were the little girl." His tone belied the words that escaped his parting lips; It was not a question.

"Yes." She whispered stiffly. Silently, she begged him not to continue asking questions. Not because they couldn't be answered; rather, because she knew she was obligated to respond. After inflicting an Empathy Burst upon him, it would be downright cruel to refuse him… and she would never be able to forgive herself. That being said, answering the questions he asked was almost as hard; each one brought painful memories back to the surface of her mind, threatening to drown her in the depths of her own repressed despair.

Hesitantly, the blond began to speak once more. "…Your parents-"

"Dead." The vixen snapped, the monstrous sorrow within her flirting with coals of anger; however, the emotional rage was fleeting, and the vixen quickly regretted her words. She couldn't take it out on the man before her; he was nothing like _them_… he had nothing to do with the death of her people. She cast her gaze away in shame, settling for staring at a pebble on the cave floor, trying desperately to distance herself from her memories.

The blond man nodded sympathetically, his frown softening as the vixen by his side began to tear up.

"And the others?" He asked softly, his resolve fracturing as the vixen visibly flinched at his question.

"Dead or missing. Probably dead." She whispered, lost in the memories of her dead people. She locked eyes with the blond, and at once Naruto knew he had stepped too far into dark territory; Krystal's eyes, once sparkling with intensity and filled with life, seemed to lose their luster. Despite her gaze captivating his own, her eyes were not focused on his; she stared far past him, _through him_, lost in a painful, winding memory.

"_I'm all alone… I'm…"_ thought Krystal, her body shuddering. Tears fell silently, beginning to stain her cheeks, shimmering in the light of the campfire.

Instinctively, the blond man comforted her the only way he knew how to. With a practiced ease, he looped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a tender embrace. The vixen froze in uncertainty, stiffening at the unexpected contact; uncertain seconds ticked by, punctuated only by the vixen's heavy breathing. Moments later, as though responding to some unspoken cue, she relaxed, allowing the blond to hold her in a lover's embrace. He tenderly brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face, eyeing the heartfelt tears that marred her beautiful complexion.

"… You're not alone anymore." Stated the blond as his sky-blue orbs entranced her own. The vixen, her last vestiges of resistance crumbling like rice paper, buried her face into the blonde's chest, choking back a sob.

Knowing that nothing he could say would ease the burden of her suffering, Naruto remained silent, providing the distraught vixen with open ears and a full heart: two of sorrow's greatest weaknesses.

The two sat there for what felt like hours, yet in reality was mere minutes; strange sensations filled both man and vixen, as their embrace became… _more_. It was as though their souls resonated with each other, fed off each other, _lived_ off of each other; they could feel each other's emotions acutely, although it felt second-nature, as if they had known each other for years.

She sought solace in his warm embrace; in that moment, nothing else existed but the beating of their hearts. As she listened to his deep, steady breathing, she found herself calming once more.

As her tears slowly dried, Krystal timidly pulled herself away from the concerned blond, glancing away with guild-ridden eyes. "I'm… sorry, about… _that_," the ashamed vixen began, "I don't normally cry… I, I shouldn't burden you with-"

"Don't be sorry." The blond interrupted, frowning. He clasped her hands within his own, halting her departure. Rough, calloused hands kneaded her own with a tenderness that seemed without measure; his fingers danced across her own, like leaves floating on a warm autumn breeze.

"I know what you're going through… I know that you're afraid. No one can live with an iron heart." He whispered, in a tone that suggested personal experience. "Least of all, you."

The vixen regarded him silently, stunned at his proclamation. Had he seen what she couldn't? Did another person, human nonetheless, know her better than she knew herself? All these years… all this time, she had been living in sorrow. Fear had been her motivation; she was afraid of those responsible for ruining her life, to the point that she had isolated herself amongst the trees, daring not to trespass into man's domain unless under the guise of darkness. Fear kept her awake at night, watching the nearby village with a suspicious eye. Fear… it controlled her.

And yet… here was a man who under normal circumstances, she would have hidden from, like a proverbial monster under her bed. Yet, for whatever reason, he had perked her interest. Perhaps it was the way his smile could warm her heart; perhaps it was the fearless confidence he always displayed. Perhaps it was divine providence, showing its hand. Whatever the cause, she had allowed him into her life; and in the mere weeks she had known him, he had changed her more than she could possibly imagine.

He was right. It was that simple.

She had been hardening her heart throughout the years; she had long ago given up hope of ever finding happiness, of ever restoring her people to their former glory. She avoided all outside contact. She couldn't remember the last time she cried, laughed, or felt any other emotion than fear.

Until the blonde arrived.

In one conversation, her pretenses and inhibitions had been swept away, as though before a hurricane. He began to break down the steel walls that safeguarded her heart within minutes of awaking; of this, she was sure.

In her heart of hearts, she knew she wanted this; but once again, fear reared its ugly head. What did this mean for her? When her defenses were cast aside… what then? Would he take advantage of her weakness, like a potter molding clay within his hands? Her irrational fear kept trying to get the best of her better judgment; it was an unbearable thought.

But as the blond gazed intently into her eyes, filling her with an indescribable emotion, she knew that her fears were unfounded. He grinned softly, an action that filled her with a calm excitement. It was as though she were a bird, taking flight; her earthly concerns fell away, as gravity lost hold upon her wings.

"You're right…" She whispered, smiling affectionately, for what felt like the first time in years.

She sat closer to him, enjoying the warmth his body provided in the cool, damn cave. The fear that had once gripped her heart was held at bay by his presence; they held each other, staring into the light of the dying fire, content to enjoy the peace of a cool morning.

However, the moment was not to last.

"As comfortable as we are," Naruto whispered, regret and affection entwined within his rough voice, "I think we should get moving… we have to gather food for tonight."

Climbing quickly to his feet, the blond man stretched, grunting as his back offered a satisfying pop. A chaste smile was shared between man and vixen; normalcy had returned once more, content in its embrace. Hand in hand, the two made their leave of the cave, venturing into the light of the midmorning sun…


	13. Razors and Butterflies

He sat upon a winding, rocky bank, enjoying the sensation of cool water lapping against his bare ankles. A fishing rod brushed between loose fingers, belied by a sturdy eye. His firm gaze was fixed upon a small, red-and-white sphere, that bobbed up and down with the river's current. As tremors rippled through the flexible wood, the blond man tugged sharply on his line; like a desert mirage, a large salmon appeared, soaring above the surface of the river. Grinning in satisfaction at yet another catch, he took his time reeling in his quarry.

Dinner was well on its way; they would eat like kings tonight.

"You know almost everything there is to know about me… and yet, I know almost nothing about you." These words drew the blond man's attention away from his latest catch.

The two had been sitting by the riverside for the past hour, enjoying both the cool evening breeze and the surrounding animal song. Their silence was companionable; a mutual understanding seemed to exist between them. Conversation was unneeded; the lack of speech gave them time to think.

He nodded in affirmation, but was not forthcoming in speech; he was never the type to talk about himself. He preferred to leave the past, in the past… it seemed, though, that his wishes would never come to fruition.

If he was honest with himself, the vixen sitting beside him was to blame for his exposure; however, he could not fault her. Almost two months had passed since they had first met… and though their relationship – he supposed the term fit – had progressed leaps and bounds, he had yet to open up about himself.

Through the Empathy Burst, Krystal's past had been revealed, in all of its substance, to him; he was honor-bound to answer her, should she choose to ask about his own.

It had taken him some time to process the Empathy Burst. Though his conscious mind had been relatively sound, his emotions were unstable. Flashes of memories not his own seeped into his thoughts, waking him during the night and leaving him in a cold, panicked sweat. It was an unnerving feeling, to say the least. The visions were vague and indistinct, usually a flash of colors, hazy recollections of a forgotten face, accompanied by a chattering of panicked voices, the eerie crying of children, a sharp crack of lightning.

_"We are the harbingers of blood and death…"  
_  
He'd kept his condition from Krystal as best he could; for one who spent her entire existence living alone, she was adept at reading people, almost as much as he was. Thankfully, he was also adept at keeping secrets. If he were to tell her of his troubles, he reasoned, it would only cause her to feel guilty about something she had no control over. They were his weakness to bear, and no one else's; like the others of his past, he would find a way to overcome them on his own.

Krystal was leaning casually on her hands, eyeing the blond curiously. He wasn't one to clam up; if anything, he was the bane of silence. The blond silently returned her gaze, but quickly glanced away, unable to look the vixen in the eyes. Despite his sense of honor,

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea." He replied, his gaze not deviating from the river. Its clear waters rippled fiercely, but his eyes did not follow its movement. He had made his decision – to repay his life debt to her in any way he could, to stay beside her - and he would abide by it.

"Naruto," she replied, resting a feather-light hand upon his forearm, "do you trust me?"

Naruto's calloused grip encircled her own, and he gently rubbed her knuckles in a placating manner. "It's not a matter of trust…" he muttered, an ocean of uncertainty rising within his breast. "It's a difficult story to tell, especially to those I care about. The past can be learned from, but there are certain things in it that are best left forgotten; fragments of my past are among these things. In all honesty, you're better off not knowing."

Krystal nodded in acceptance, and the two lapsed into a comfortable silence. As curious as she was, the vixen knew that answers would come with time, of which they had plenty; it was best to be patient. In time, all would be revealed to her.

For now, she was content to spend time with the blonde man.

Despite their different origins, she had come to trust him unlike any other; he was her peaceful warrior, standing firmly beside her, strong in both speech and action. He was her brother, her father, her friend...

She blushed unwillingly as thoughts of a darker nature invaded her mind. _His teeth on her neck, their bodies entwined beneath the full moon, the scent of fresh pine and earth, a haze of lust overpowering her senses, __his hot breath on her neck, the gentle caress of his hands kindling her desire,_ a fire building within her, begging to be released - quickly, she banished the thoughts from her mind.

Such thoughts were unusual for her. Despite her primal nature, she had never had these feelings before. Vaguely, she recalled that her people were incredibly impulsive in their nature, as well as open in their sexuality. However, she had never been this way, presumably because of her isolation and her emotional detachment, as well as her constant focus on survival. Thoughts of mating were far from her mind.

Now, her situation was different. She was no longer alone; she spent less time seeking sustenance in the wild, and more time around an undeniably attractive male, one who had shown incredible bravery and insight. Her maternal instincts were awakening for the first time, and she neither understood them, nor appreciated them.

"Something on your mind?" Inquired the blonde, as her grip tightened slightly on his arm.

"No, it's nothing." She muttered, shaking her head in an effort to clear it of carnal thoughts. "Just... thinking about things."

He sighed at her touch, shifting beneath her probing fingers. "Hm?"

"You're better off not knowing." She replied, parroting the blonde from moments before.

"Really? And why's that?" Naruto inquired, his innocent curiosity peaked. Krystal flushed under his inquisitive gaze and squirmed in agitation, trying to hide herself from those prying eyes.

Krystal opened her mouth, as though to speak, but quickly shut it. She rubbed her knees together, snaking her hands around them, hiding her face. She felt like a snake in an eagle's nest; totally out of place, afraid that if she said the wrong thing, she'd die of embarrassment.

The blond man blinked twice, puzzled. The vixen was acting like a girl he knew, long ago... a lavender-eyed beauty, an elegant creature of royal blood, who befriended him during his childhood years. She was quiet, poised, and gentle-natured, not to mention incredibly wise; conversely, she was always blushing around him, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was only years later, after she had already been wed to his friend Shino, that he had discovered the cause of her strange behavior. For Krystal to be acting the same way-

No. It was impossible... wasn't it? There was no way she could be _crushing _on him. Of course, this was only a hunch. Then again, he reasoned, he had spent the last two months with her. He'd threatened her life, eaten all of her food, and (unintentionally) peeked on her in the hot springs... among other things.

It was an absurd thought, a startling realization, completely ridiculous... and for a reason beyond his understanding, he was strangely comfortable with it.

However, he needed confirmation. He wasn't about to jump to conclusions, especially about something this big; as good as he was at reading people, romance was always different from person to person. There was only one way to bring out the truth:

He'd have to tease it out of her.

"So," he began, "It wouldn't have anything to do with me, would it?" He asked, mirth filling his voice. He set aside his fishing rod, turning to face her.

Krystal's blush deepened, showing through her fur. "You- I- ah..." she stuttered, once again hiding her muzzle between her knees.

"So, it does." Naruto smirked, lounging lazily in the grass beside her. "Care to share?"

"N-no." Krystal protested. She hesitantly raised her eyes, only to find herself inches away from Naruto, a playful smirk upon his lips. He leaned in closely, lighting a nervous, excited fire within her belly; as a hand snaked around her waist, she melted into his touch, electricity dancing at his fingertips.

"I could... persuade you to tell me, you know." He stated, his tone of voice not giving away his intentions. Krystal bit her lip, looking anywhere but at Naruto. His fingers brushed lightly against the base of her tail, sending an unexpected tingle up her spine.

"Ah-" she gasped at his touch, crooning towards his fingers. She closed her eyes tightly, bathing in the exotic feeling.

Suddenly, his ministrations stopped. As she turned her confused gaze towards him, he resumed his gentle carress; however, his actions lacked the spark they did before, and his eyes turned hard, calculating.

"Krystal." His voice lacked the mirth it had previously; his features had hardened slightly, and his once peaceful air had been replaced by one of contained power. She took note of how is posture had changed; he slid a foot to the side, as if preparing to leap away at any moment.

"Behind you, concealed within the brush... something's there. It's giving off a weak chakra signature... weaker than the surrounding forest, meaning that it is deliberately suppressing its energy. We're being watched," he whispered calmly. He leaned in closely, his heated breath kissing her neck. "On my signal, we're going to leap into the brush - roughly three meters behind and to the right of where you're sitting - and overpower whoever is watching us. He appears to be alone; a Konoha scout, perhaps. If we can take him out quickly, we're safe."

Krystal nodded minutely, and Naruto leaned in as though to kiss her; a quick hand-sign later swapped the duo with a nearby log, positioning them right behind their voyeur.

She was dressed in a strange, caped variation of the Black Ops outfit, one he had never seen before. Her face was concealed by a featureless white mask. A ninjato - a short, single-bladed sword, commonly used by the Konoha Black Ops - in her hand, drawn instinctively.

She spun quickly, a credit to her training, and unleashed a spinning kick that would snap the average human's neck. Thinking quickly, Naruto ducked under the strike, drawing a kunai knife concealed underneath his shirt. He stepped forward, knocking the woman off-balance and attempting to end the fight quickly. She rolled with his body-check, using the momentum to flip back onto her feet, parrying his oncoming strikes with her sword.

Their fight grew more heated, more intense; sparks flew as knife and sword met in a whirlwind of steel, unrelenting, as two warriors fought for survival. Anything beyond standard fighting abilities would emit an energy pulse, giving away their position, so Naruto avoided using elemental techniques, relying on his hand-to-hand skills to see him through. Whenever his enemy would prepare for a technique, he would penetrate her guard and interrupt it, prolonging their fight.

However, he was no master swordsman, and even his superior speed and strength were giving way to the technique this woman possessed. She moved gracefully, almost robotic in nature, fighting with surgical precision. The steel blade snaked past Naruto's guard and left a minute cut on his forehead; blood filled his vision, forcing him to fight with one eye closed.

"Krystal, I could really use your help right now," he cried, just before the woman disarmed him, the knife falling from between his fingertips.

Suddenly, a flash of blue and a battle-cry erupted from the top of a nearby tree; Krystal leapt down upon the woman, aiming a solid kick at the back of the woman's head.

However, the voyuer was prepared; she spun around deftly, raising her sword to impale the helpless vixen. Naruto's eyes widened in shock as Krystal continued her descent, her unprotected belly meeting razor-sharp steel. There was a horrible sound of tearing flesh, coupled with a strangled cry; the scent of spilled blood flooded his nostrils, and he found himself unable to move, unable to look away from the scene.

All sound on the battlefield stopped. Krystal coughed, her head buried in her killer's shoulder, blood staining the black uniform; slowly, she raised her head, staring the woman in the eyes.

"Just kidding," she said, her voice strong and mocking, her wicked expression not fitting a being on their deathbed.

Suddenly, the world_ changed_; the woman was standing in the middle of an empty clearing, gasping in exertion. The sword in her hands was now a wooden stick, flimsy and harmless. The vixen before her had disappeared, seemingly vanishing into thin air.

Something moved behind her; a steel blade slid across her throat - her own blade, she realized. Such a strange place for it to be. She was holding it, just a moment ago-

Suddenly, her limbs felt heavy. She could taste her own blood; at least, she thought it was her own. The pain was there, but it was distant, as though miles away, felt by another person. Already, she could feel herself slipping away into death's cold grip...

The voyeur collapsed into the dirt. It was a merciful, quick death; more than most of her caliber would receive. Silently, Krystal wiped the woman's blade in the grass, freeing it of the blood that marred it. The vixen stared at her reflection in the blade's surface for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. There was so much blood...

Naruto rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, sighing heavily. "That was your first kill, wasn't it?"

A moment passed. Krystal nodded mutely, eyes deadlocked on the blade.

"We'll talk later." He stated, his gaze shifting to the treeline. "Our actions here won't go unnoticed. We have to leave, now."

"But-" Krystal began, only to pause abruptly. Her arms fell limply to her sides, the sword dropping point-first into the moist earth below.

"Not now." Naruto insisted. He gazed upon her with compassion, but his words were cold and determined. "Konoha thinks I'm dead. If our spy here went back to the Hokage, tail between her legs, claiming she was beaten by a dead man and a fox, she'd be labeled a fool. But, if she were to go back in a body bag… well, killing a ninja, especially one as strong as this, is bound to trigger certain alarms. Reinforcements could be here any time. We have to move."

He picked up the fallen sword, placing it inside the vixen's palm, curling her fingers around it.

"This is good quality steel; we may have use of it."

Quickly, numbly, the two killers fled into the night; the sun had set, the warmth of the day having long since left their bones.

_"We are the harbingers of blood and death..." _

(A/N:

Once again, I'd like to thank all my loyal reviewers for their support. **Cerberusx**, **Bahamut Knight**, and **Hanzo of the Salamander**, your input and support have been especially helpful in improving the story. I greatly appreciate you taking some time out of your day to make mine that much better.

For those of you that leave an honest review, you are more appreciated than you know. You have helped me keep the will to write alive; without you, none of this would be possible. Thanks for your time, dear readers. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Also, my apologies regarding the false update. I submitted a chapter, withdrew it almost immediately, and rewrote it; the previous version was far too dark for my tastes, and lead me into a writer's block. Thankfully, this problem has been ammended. My drive to write is back, the entire story is planned out, and I look forward to getting back into the story.

-Fell the Tempest)


	14. In the Cobra's Grasp

Their feet beat the solid earth with a warlike frenzy, kicking up a steady stream of dust in their wake. Stealth was all but abandoned; time was of the essence, their survival at stake.

The evening had grown startlingly dark; thick clouds loomed ominously overhead, chasing away the dying sunset. The forest seemed to possess a life of its own; the trees themselves swayed with the chilling, wet breeze. Their shadows writhed upon the earth, like grasping hands, reaching out to snare the fleeing outcasts.

A drop of cold sweat rolled down his cheek; hastily, he wiped it away.

Steely blue eyes were closed, as a man fought a losing war his body. The cut earlier had affected him more than he would care to admit; while such a wound was by no means lethal, the strike was precise, managing to sever a minor artery in his forehead. Worse, the blood continued to seep from his wounds at an alarming rate. The blade itself must have been coated in a thin film of venom, otherwise he would have been healed already. Even the demonic energy within his belly was being suppressed; the venom in his veins must have been custom-tailored to curb his every strength. The question was, who - or what - could have made such a poison? And for what purpose?

Well, at least the second question had an obvious answer. Somebody wanted him dead.

The blood loss was beginning to affect Naruto's endurance. Already, he could feel his limbs growing unnaturally heavy. His strength was on a timer. The more he pushed himself, the faster his heart beat; precious lifeblood would escape him in ever-increasing amounts. He steadied his resolve, further increasing his speed by channeling his inner energy. He would have time to rest later. The more distance he and Krystal put between themselves and the dead scout, the better.

Like a great behemoth, their waterfall loomed in the distance; redoubling his speed, the ground soared beneath him as he plotted out his next move. Channeling trace amounts of energy to the soles of his bare feet, he ran alongside the waterfall, scampering up the Cliffside. Krystal followed slightly behind, soaring from stone to stone with incredible precision, like that of a seasoned dancer.

The duo quickly slipped behind the waterfall, abandoning their improvised path. The entrance was mere feet away, and concealed by the torrents of water cascading from above.

"Quickly, put out the fire!" Naruto cried, over the roaring of the waterfall. His voice echoed loudly against the stone walls of the cave.

Nodding anxiously, the blue-furred vixen dropped to her knees beside the searing heat of the fire pit. Her shaking hands grasped a nearby bucket of water, casting it onto the thriving coals; a loud hiss met her ears, and the flames were doused almost instantly, kicking up a cloud of heat and smoke. Krystal coughed raggedly as the fumes entered her lungs, and tears sprung to her eyes; she swatted the offending cloud away, staggering back from the fire pit. As the last vestiges of the roaring fire extinguished themselves, the cave was once again bathed in darkness, save for the glowing of gems hidden within its depths.

In a methodical frenzy, the blonde traversed through their home, throwing the bare necessities –small weapons, pastic-wrapped MREs and a spare change of clothing - into a burlap sack. Tightly knotting it off with a length of fine tripwire, the blonde grunted, tossing it to Krystal.

She caught the bag reflexively, and haphazardly looped two lengths of the wire across her back, securing them tightly at her waist. As she finished the knot, her hands brushed against something unfamiliar, something she wished she'd never earned…

Upon the blue-furred vixen's hip, lay the sheathed ninja-to she had looted from the woman she had killed. Though the blade itself was light as a feather, its presence weighed heavily upon Krystal. Wrapping her shaking fingers around the sword's leather grip—why was she shaking?—the vixen tugged the sharp steel inches from the sheath, only to wince and rip her fingers from the handle. The cross-guard impacted the lip of the sheath with an ominous, metallic click.

Krystal shut her eyes tightly and grit her teeth, visions of her kill dancing about her eyelids. Tears began leaking from the corner of her eyes. She clenched her fists tightly, fighting against the flood of that threatened to overwhelm her.

Such was the curse of empathy. She had an almost perfect memory; coupled with her invasion of the woman's mind, she felt the 'death' as if it were her own. The revulsion of taking a life hit her like a hammer blow, but to experience death at the same time was to live a waking nightmare.

However, she couldn't allow her weakness to affect her. Naruto was almost finished packing his gear; they'd need to move soon… but more than that, she refused to allow the blonde to see her in this moment of weakness. Krystal brushed the unseen tears away from her eyes, before turning to the entrance. Her gaze grew stony, eyes glistening like torches in the night.

Suddenly, she froze. Her survival instincts, honed throughout her many years within the forest, were screaming at her, warning her. She lifted her nose to the air, inhaling deeply. A foreign, nauseating stench crept through her nostrils, and she shuddered in revulsion; it tasted sickly sweet, like rotting flesh. It weakened her knees, threatening to pull her towards the earth. She put one hand to the cave wall, using its presence to keep herself mentally alert.

"Krozoa… what is that smell?" She choked out, her voice laden with fear and disgust. "It feels like it's… leeching away my strength."

Hearing her words, Naruto cursed, and began moving with greater urgency; he bolted to the cave entrance, pressing his back flat against the cool stone. As he opened his senses once more, he shuddered as an icy chill crept ran along his back, like the fingernails of a vengeful lover.

"That smell… would be killing intent," growled Naruto, his trained eyes peering through the night, "it's a form of attack used by my people, used to disable an opponent. Fight it, Krystal. Everything will be alright."

It was raining heavily now; thunder roared nearby. The taste of ozone lingered on his tongue; each breath was crisp, a feeling he would have taken the time to enjoy, were it not for the imminent danger he was in. Within the darkness, he could make out five figures methodically sweeping the base of the waterfall. Furthermore, judging by their energy levels, four were above the level of Chuunin, and one had enough chakra to be a Special Jounin. It would be suicide to take all of them on at once, especially in his condition.

"They're already here… and they know we're here too. It'll be a matter of time before we're found." Naruto whispered. He glanced about the clearing, his agile mind quickly taking in their situation. Fingers danced over the kunai strapped to his leg, a habit he had developed some time ago while deep in thought.

Yes, it would be suicide to take on all of them at once. However, he wasn't ready to die just yet. It was time to do what ninja did best: improvise.

Lightning flashed nearby, bathing the entire clearing in an explosion of light and sound. The center of the storm was close; both man and vixen felt the roar of thunder pass through them, and their hearts beat wildly. As the rain continued to fall, a wicked grin emerged on Naruto's face.

It was a grin of inspiration.

"We have no choice… flight isn't an option. We have to fight our way out," the blond man stated, his voice calm and powerful. He withdrew a single kunai and dropped into a loose crouch, like a snake poised to strike. "Lay low, and follow me."

The duo crept out from behind the waterfall, using rocky outcroppings as cover. The cascading rain obscured their movements; the roaring of the waterfall muted the faint scratching of their feet upon loose gravel.

Like wraiths, they descended silently through the night, approaching the enemy scouts. Their targets were split apart into two groups: the first, emitting the strongest killing intent, hovered steadily by the treeline. The second, consisting of only two nin, tentatively encroached upon the waterfall's base. It was familiar tactic to Naruto, as he'd trained in such methods of tracking before. Two ahead, three behind; the first group was to search for the target, while the second was tasked to provide backup if needed, or to retreat and report to the city if the first were to encounter danger.

They had underestimated him… and it was something he would be sure to capitalize on.

First, he began flooding the surrounding area with energy, which slowly created a dense fog that further blinded his pursuers. Similar to a technique perfected by the Demon of the Hidden Mist, it concealed both his physical presence and his energy signature. While the two nin were robbed of their vision, as well as their sensory abilities, weeks of wearing a blindfold had caused Naruto's other senses to increase tenfold. While his eyes were as useless as a feather in a sword fight, and his ears were deafened by the roaring winds, he could still smell the unsuspecting trackers.

In his mind's eye, he was a panther among dogs; lithe muscles coiled and released, propelling him forward silently into the night. His heart hardened, his fingers tightening around the handle of cold steel.

He was mere feet from the enemy nin, now; they were behind and to the right of the stone wall he crouched beside. Blue eyes closed in concentration, and the steel-wrought warrior inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the kunai held within his hands. Waiting for his cue, he steadied his nerves, mentally reviewing his plan of attack.

He didn't have to wait long; the foggy night was illuminated by a dazzling flash of lightning,  
_"One, two…"_he silently counted to himself. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open; in an astonishing burst of speed, he leapt from behind the rocks, soaring at the two unsuspecting nin. They were blinded by the lightning, and so they did not see his approach… and as his kunai entered their backs, their death cries were muffled by crashing thunder, which seemed to shake the very air around them. The two nin collapsed bonelessly to the earth, their spinal columns severed, their figures obscured by the mud in which they lay.

Two down. Three to go.

Naruto dropped to one knee, gasping for air. As weak as he was, that attack had taken more out of him than he'd care to admit. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing shallow; he broke out into a cold sweat, and his left leg began shaking terribly. Grunting in anger, he surged to his feet, withdrawing the kunai in a sweeping, feral motion. Now was not the time for weakness.

He ducked behind the stone wall again, Krystal beside him once more. Though she didn't know it, she was the sole reason he was standing right now; without something to fight for, he would have fallen after those first two kills, unable to recover.

Within the darkness, Naruto felt something shift. Another beacon of energy emerged from the forest; someone was using his own technique against him, flooding the mist with their own power. However, this was no ordinary warrior. The energy felt… disturbingly familiar. Just before his own 'sight' wore off, he could feel the three nin moving closer.

The blond hated to do this, but action had to be taken. From the look of things, both he and Krystal would not be able to escape intact; one of them would have to take the fall. Given the poison coursing through his veins, he reasoned that he would be the much better scapegoat. If he could buy her enough time… maybe, just maybe she could escape. He grabbed a soldier pill from his improvised knapsack and bit down hard, the bitter taste forcing him awake, the caffeine rush giving him a little more energy.

He hoped that it would be enough of an edge to see the battle through.

"Krystal, do you trust me?" Naruto whispered, his face inches from her own. As they stared into each others eyes, the magnetic pull tugged on them once again. Steel-blue orbs were ensnared. The mud in which they sat, the heavy rainfall, the scrapes and bruises, the biting cold, and the enemy nin were all but forgotten, as two souls connected.

"Yes." Krystal replied, her voice firm and quick to respond.

Naruto's eyes narrowed and he glanced away; Krystal shuddered silently as the trance broke, and she, too, followed his line of sight. He was eyeballing the eastern forest, eyes flickering back and forth, as though studying a complicated text. He flexed his grip around the hilt of a rain-soaked kunai, working circulation back into his arm. "They'll detect their missing soldiers soon, and I expect they won't be too happy about it. We've weakened them, but I doubt we'll be able to stand up to the remaining group as we are. We'll have to get out of here."

Krystal hesitated. Doubt flickered in her eyes, and a lump formed in her throat, born of an uncertainty she'd never once tasted. Always, she had known her place, her identity, her home; tonight, the dream she had once lived was cast aside in the torret of lightning, steel and bloodshed. But more than that - she was now to become a wanderer, lost to even herself. She'd never been outside of the canopy of trees before; the forest was her home, the only one she'd ever known.

Naruto picked up on her hesitation and smiled sadly. "It's alright. I'll be with you the whole way."

Something in his voice was… ominous. Despite her fear, however, she nodded slowly. She would trust him, as he had trusted her; more than that, she couldn't resist the pull she felt as she gazed into his eyes.

"…Where will we go?" She inquired, as the blond stood. He took a deep, steady breath, and planted his feet firmly in the loose gravel.

"Wave Country. Three days' travel east, and another four north. We'll be sticking to the forest, but as long as we keep a good pace, we should make it in decent time. The current head of state, Tazuna, is a good friend of mine; I helped him out a while back, and he owes me. He'll provide us with food, shelter, and a temporary hideaway from Konoha. After that… well, we'll work something out."

Krystal unsheathed the ninja-to and held it calmly in her grasp, arms loose by her sides. Naruto watched silently as she muttered a battle prayer under her breath, eyes closed, breaths even. He took a last moment to admire her beauty; beneath the dirt stains, underneath the damp, tousled fur, she was still as divine as the day he first saw her. The confusion and fear in her eyes saddened him, yet hardened the fires of resolve in his heart. He might not see her again, this was certain... But with any luck, she would live, and as long as he knew that, he could bear a second death.

He channeled his energy and formed the single handsign that had made him a ninja, forming a cross with the first two fingers on both hands. As he was about to unleash his technique, however, he felt a sharp stab of agony; in a burst of smoke – something that he had gotten rid of years ago through intense training – he created three pairs of clones, which flanked both himself and Krystal on all sides. Though they looked passable from a distance, their facial features were distorted and they didn't have enough energy to sustain more than a single blow. Naruto cursed angrily. There wasn't enough time – or energy – for a second try.

"Let me," Krystal said. Her eyes glowed briefly, and an Illusion was cast over the clones. They appeared more lifelike than even Naruto thought possible – exact copies of himself, down to the smell, weight, and body language.

It was only an illusion – he doubted they were any more durable – but they would have to do.

He took off with a burst of speed, the clones each running in separate directions. The real vixen ran silently behind him, her feet seemingly gliding over stone.

They entered the forest and ran mere miles away from the border of Konoha, parallel to the great city's walls. Their pace was fervent, their expressions a chase mix of determination and despair, two sides of the same coin.

Naruto felt the first pang of fear as a pair of his clones were destroyed, followed quickly by a second; immediately, his guard was redoubled, and just in time.

A flash of light on steel caught the blond's attention; with a quick snarl, he spun and threw his a kunai, intercepting a shuriken that had been careening towards his unguarded back. Another followed shortly after; this one he caught between two fingers, before completing his spin and throwing it back towards the source. He heard the muffled clash of steel on steel as his pursuer parried the missile.

They were close – maybe thirty, forty meters – and gaining. The duo entered the forest, the thick canopy of leaves shielding them from most of the rainfall.

A handful of explosive scrolls, salvaged from the cave, were immediately drawn from his pocket. He channeled a token amount of energy into them and attached them to his remaining kunai. One by one, he threw them towards his pursuers, aiming for the trees on which they ran; a cacophony of light and sound penetrated the milky silence, and Naruto felt the heat on his back as the tags detonated, taking small sections of forest with them. Krystal would have protested, but there was no time for such things; they heard a cry of rage, followed by an even greater surge of energy. The tags had done little but enrage their pursuers.

As his feet beat the branches beneath him, Naruto began to feel… strange. White flecks buzzed like gnats at the edge of his vision, and the ache of his injuries began to recede. His eyes felt harder, sharper somehow, as though he were truly seeing for the first time, so much that it was painful; the smell of the burning wood behind him pierced his nostrils and nearly made him gag. It was all he could do to keep pace with the vixen, who began to overtake him.

The poison was getting to him, and the soldier pill had worn off with that last burst of energy. He didn't have much time left.

He stopped.

"Krystal, go ahead without me."

The blue-furred vixen abruptly skidded to a halt, her boots biting into thick bark. Her eyes widened with surprise, despair, and a hint of anger. "Naruto, don't do this!" She shouted. "I have more energy – We can fight them!"

She was lying, and they both knew it.

"You know the way. Head due east like I told you, and when you hit a large body of water, head north through the forest pass; keep running and avoid major roads. Stop for nothing." The blond continued, ignoring her protests.

"Naruto!" She shouted, panic In her voice. She didn't want to leave him – she couldn't leave him. She needed him. He was… hers. Her savior, and her only friend.

"I'm sorry." He intoned. He bit his hand, and as blood flowed from the open wound, he channeled what remained of his energy. A single clone emerged from the blood that pooled by his feet – a blood clone, one of the most advanced, forbidden techniques that he knew. It would last quite a while, endure severe punishment, and have enough strength to carry Krystal out of harm's way; however, it took a few years off of his life expectancy every time it was cast, thus its forbidden nature. A trifle cost, really, when he expected to die in mere minutes.

The clone switched places with the vixen's sword and quickly restrained her, before turning on its heels and ushering her further into the forest. "Naruto!" She yelled, as she was forcibly carried away from her friend. She struggled against the clone's grip, but his arms coiled around her with the strength of a boa constrictor; he used his superior size and strength to his advantage, rendering her immobile as she was carried helplessly away.

"I'll… I'll be back for you. Stupid human…" she cursed, as tears sprung to her eyes.

Naruto closed his eyes and relaxed, as a few sparse raindrops fell from the canopy above. They kissed his brow and trailed slowly down his cheeks, a baptism before execution; he inhaled sharply, savoring the taste of the fresh air.

"I'd heard you were dead…" a voice whispered from behind him. It was a voice with which Naruto was painstakingly familiar, one that he had known every day of his life; it was the voice that he had heard in a dream, once… a voice that bespoke death as if a funeral were a holiday. Within the soft tenor lay a thinly veiled madness, an underlying disregard for life so deep that no amount of blood could sate it.

"Such a pity. I was hoping that a knife to the chest would have been enough to kill you. It seems we've got a little… catching up to do." The man intoned, as though discussing the weather.

The words were hard and cold, like permafrost on concrete.

Naruto paused for a moment, and then turned. His eyes fixed their steely, cool gaze upon his pursuer, and he grimaced in disgust.

"That we do... _Kakashi_."


	15. Awaken the Sleeper

Her breath was hot and ragged, like the choked screams of a dying man. She couldn't feel her legs anymore, as they had been numbed by the ceaseless striking of her feet upon rough bark. Two days, spent running non-stop through the forests. Two days… She had slept for maybe an hour, perhaps minutes more; stopping only for the occasional water break, she had desperately paved a trail through the forests of the Elemental Countries, moving fast, as to avoid being caught or pursued.

Ever since the first new day on the road, she'd felt… offset, as though she was wading through thick molasses with each step. Cotton-balls filled her ears, and it was as though she was spectator, watching life through someone else's eyes. This being did not hesitate; it did not fear; it did not think. Her body was on autopilot, taking Krystal to faraway lands, places of unknown terror, and she couldn't bring herself to care.

It had been constantly raining ever since that night, but although the torrent had lightened up significantly, her body was still wracked with the chills. Her soft blue fur was matted with sweat and clumps of dirt; Her eyes were bloodshot, like cracks of magma bleeding through fractured ivory. Sleep's cool fingers were tugging at her eyelids, drawing them ever downward, and it seemed as though the simple act of keeping her eyes open drew upon her very lifeblood. A strange pulse – foreign, almost – beat like thunder in her chest, her pace like the lightning it accompanied as she ran. How long had it been again? Two days? She couldn't focus. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of agony and haunting melodies. Half-formed thoughts paraded through her living sleep, questions, concerns, desires, listless despair, but they were cast into the void. She could think of nothing – feel nothing – but the passing of her friend and mentor, the man she had come to so admire. The thought kept her going as her broken body sailed through the trees, over rivers, and towards Wave Country.

It was nearing dusk; the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting it in shades of blue, orange, pink and purple; the sun's light glimmered off the surface of the distant Northern sea, like the smile of a newborn child. It was a beautiful sight, one that she was sadly unable to appreciate.

A thought – a single strand of hope, of intense desire, of crippling despair and bittersweet memories pierced the surface of the fog that clouded her mind.

_' If only _he _were here_…'

Suddenly, she tripped. Awareness – consciousness – returned, in that instant; a slight misstep had placed an errant foot underneath a protruding branch. Her momentum carried her forward, and - god, she was so tired – she rolled forward and collided with another tree, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Pitching forward, the vixen fell ever downwards, her grasping hands failing to find purchase amongst the tree's branches.

The earth greeted her with a crushing embrace. She coughed once and rolled onto her side, groaning in discomfort. No real injury, she determined through her haze of fatigue, just light bruising and an exhaustion settling in that she'd never known before. It greeted her warmly – like a warm fire on a cool First Snow's evening - and as tired as she was, it felt harder and harder to resist the pull of gravity. She decided to take the moment to rest, briefly – just a moment... and as the vixen closed her eyes, she almost immediately drifted off to sleep, her mind worn raw, a pulsing headache between her eyes, ears filled with the gentle caress of running water nearby.

Almost.

An icy-cold feeling settled in her spine, just above the base of her tail. She staggered to her feet, pupils dilating, mouth open in recognition, arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill. Water – running water -

It was the sign she had been waiting for.

Krystal had - much to her surprise - arrived at the border of Wave Country. A scant few miles ahead, her keen eyesight picked out a solitary stone bridge, extending into the direction of the sea. The first sign of rest she had seen in ages. Excitement and hope bubbled within her chest, though she knew not why. A bridge meant civilization. Civilization meant food, shelter... and humans.

Krystal's guard immediately went up, thoughts of sleep and fatigue forgotten. A hidden anxiety returned. What if they attacked? Would she be able to defend herself? The man Naruto had described… would she be able to find him, and would he provide shelter? And, if so, what would she do then?

'_Naruto…'_

She wanted to go back and free her friend, but she knew such was impossible at the present; she was outnumbered, ill-informed. She didn't even know if the blond warrior was alive or not, which was saying something. Their psychic bond had ceased to be mere hours after her departure, which meant one of two things: that an outside source was interfering with it, or… she shuddered, dismissing such thoughts from her mind.

She couldn't think like that. She _wouldn't_ think like that.

Now was not the time for such weakness. What would _he _think if he saw her like this? She would save her grief for another time, when she could properly deal with such things – if she could deal with such things. But in the meantime, she had other matters to attend to.

She had to be very careful from here on out. The blond had instructed her to look for a friend of his, a man named "Tazuna". While Naruto felt that this man was trustworthy, she could not be so certain; lacking any other options, she would simply have to rely on the blond's word and hope it sufficed. What choice did she have?

Using what little remained of her mental strength – along with a little extra energy, courtesy of the surrounding forest – she wove a simple Illusion around herself that mimicked a dark cloak, similar to what she'd seen the humans wear _that night _in the forest. Wearing their garb made her sick to her stomach, but she shouldered on regardless, reminding herself of its necessity, trying to forget the memories of that night. It would shield her from prying eyes… for as long as she could maintain the illusion, at any rate.

She approached the city's gates, her headache worsening at the smell of the sea, along with a potent mix of brimstone and expensive perfumes. The sudden shift in the air made her want to gag, but she suppressed the desire and kept a steady gate. Packed earth slowly gave way to cobblestone streets, and she passed over the bridge, apprehension building with each step.

She passed buildings the likes of which she'd never seen before. They were all large complexes, three stories or taller, with dome-shaped roofs, each resembling a turtle's shell. In the dim evening light, her tired eyes mistook them as such, though she knew such things were impossible. Each dome had a hole in its center, from which Hearthfire-smoke pouring out into the evening sky. Her nose detected the tantalizing smell of cooking food, and in spite of her best efforts, her stomach growled loudly.

The streets were mostly empty at this time of night. The young ones had gone to sleep, and with them, it seemed like the city's life had vanished. Unlike the homes, which seemed to be new, these streets were old, worn and cracked by years of rain and wandering feet. She faintly smelled copper – though that could have been her mind playing tricks on her.

And then, she saw the statue.

It was a small thing – maybe ten feet high, wrought of stone. It wasn't impressive by any standard; neither was it carved by a master's delicate hand, nor did it seem to stand out amongst the nearby homes, small as it was. It was positioned in the center of what could only be the town square, a large, stone-paved abbey, filled with market stalls that had been closed for the evening. It appeared almost… unrefined, as though it were molded by a child's hands.

No, it stood out not for its craftsmanship, but for its design. It was a statue of a person, a man she knew intimately. She'd know that face anywhere: _Naruto_.

For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating.

Naruto stood before her, eyes focused on the horizon. He was dressed in a strange two-piece battle-dress, adorned with many pockets and a swirl design emblazoned proudly on the sleeves and chest of his outfit. A headband, marked by a single leaf, marked him as a warrior of the people. He was smiling – she hadn't known he could smile like that – and in his outstretched hand was a sword, similarly wrought of stone, tip planted in the earth. It was a massive blade, simply designed yet radiating power, one that could easily cut clean through a horse.

The statue was situated on a small garden, one that rose out of the town square, like a beacon of life. A plaque sat nearby; though she could barely read it, illiterate to the human-language as she was, a few familiar words stood out to her probing gaze.  
"Naruto", "Hero", and "Wave."

She paused for a moment, drinking in the sight with her eyes, admiring every crevice of the statue. Silently, she bowed her head, closed her eyes, and murmured a Cerinian prayer of home-coming under her breath. It was a solemn, yet hopeful prayer, used by the mothers of those going into battle. She'd hoped that she'd never have to hear it, let alone speak it herself, but… too much was at stake. If a word would help change the tides of fate, she'd sing for as long as the spirits would hear her.

"Ad kxo nadtj aj 0eih najtem. Ad kxo ouhkx, 0eih jkhodwkx. Ad kxo vaho, 0eih xouhk. Ad kxo nukoh, 0eih semfujjaed. Rehd ev kxo nehct khoo, hokihd; kxo jfahak rosbedj."  
_  
/"In the winds is your wisdom. In the earth, your strength. In the fire, your heart. In the water, your compassion. Born of the world tree, return; the spirit beckons."/_

The words echoed eerily on the wind, like whispers of the dead. They surrounded her, comforted her. Such were the rites of her people; and as he was her friend, he deserved no less.

She stood a few moments more, silence returning to the town square. Then, she slowly turned and staggered away, her fatigue abruptly returning. She needed… rest.

A blinding light shone in the distance. Half-dazed, the vixen approached it. Swinging wooden doors parted before her, and a bell chimed softly as her feet crossed over the threshold.

Krystal found herself in one of those.. turtle-buildings. It was nearly empty, but brightly lit, smelling of rich ale and Mapleberry smoke. Lacquered mahogany tables and chairs were situated about the room, in which a sparse few patrons rested their feet, and drank the night away, froth on their whiskers, fire in their hearts, telling merry stories and singing songs of old. She approached the nearest bar stool and collapsed heavily into it, taking a moment to catch her breath, the shaking in her legs gradually easing.

"Welcome ta' tha' Shark's Fin Inn and Tavern. What can I get fer ya' tonight?" Inquired a gravelly voice. A man stood on the other side of the counter, back to her, fussing with a beer glass. He was a large, muscled man, garbed in a worker's clothes and a greasy apron. She couldn't make out his features, shielded as he was by the glare of the bar lights – '_too bright'_, she thought, wincing.

A pregnant silence filled the room. It took a moment for the blue-furred vixen to realize that she was being addressed. Her heartbeat sped up a notch, and for an instant, panic consumed her. A fleeting moment passed before the tension eased in her shoulders, as she remembered that she was still shrouded in her Illusion. With that realization came reason, along with a sense of guarded calm. She coughed raggedly to clear her throat.

"Whatever's good." She replied, in the steadiest voice she could muster. Her tone was scratchy from dehydration and disuse, and she mentally cursed. The bartender must have picked up on her weakness, for turned to face her – and she inhaled sharply.

He was a wall of a man, his aura almost as intimidating as his sheer size . Thick arms sprouted from his torso like tree trunks. Yellow, slitted eyes gazed back into her own, inquisitive, yet unmistakably powerful. His skin was a pale blue – resembling that of a shark, she realized with shock – and three gill-like slits sat on either side of his massive neck, which was almost as thick as her waist. He moved with primal ferocity, and as he smiled at her – a smile that held far too many teeth – she knew, without a doubt, that he could see her for what she really was. She shivered as his eyes raked over her body.

"Wha's the matter?" The man inquired, grinning, his voice deep and all-consuming. "Was it something I said?"


	16. Threads

Krystal swallowed audibly and sat completely still, eyes locked with those of the man before her. Neither did she move, nor did she breathe, for what felt like the longest time. In those few seconds, Krystal thought that her heart was going to stop. Abruptly, the behemoth chuckled, and he turned on his heel, reaching into the depths of the cupboard behind him.

The blue-furred vixen took a moment to calm herself. She'd never seen anyone like the barkeep before. He looked almost… Cerinian. And he smelled like one too, but not entirely; the stench of man hung about him like a second skin.

He was a walking puzzle, one that she ached to solve. As far as she knew, her people had all been wiped out in the wake of the bloody war, the conflict which tore the world apart and set the forests afire. Men feared Cerinians, as surely as the sun set in the evening. And to walk openly, appearing as he did… it was tantamount to inviting Death into one's home for an evening visit. A hundred questions jumped to her mind, begging to be asked, buzzing at the edge of her consciousness like a horde of agitated bees. _Who was he? What was he? How had he survived for so long? Were there others? _– and she winced, grunting audibly, as her headache returned. She felt like nails were being hammered into her skull, and she clutched at her temples in a futile effort to ease the pain.

"Now, now. Can't have none o' that. Here." The shark-man said, his voice tired and – disappointed? Angry? Perhaps concerned? She couldn't tell, perhaps it was a combination of the three; his demeanor and… aesthetics, made him incredibly difficult to read. He set a frothy glass mug down on the counter with a heavy clink.

Krystal gazed up at the bartender questioningly. He shrugged, meeting her look with one of expectation.

"Yea', it's f'er you. Drink, b'fore I make ya." The man commanded, as though he could read her thoughts. He was leaning on the edge of the bar, working at a dirty mug with an even dirtier rag. Despite his apparent focus on the glass in his hands, she had no doubt that his every sense was tuned in her direction.

Hesitantly, Krystal accepted the gift, and studied it intently, using her acute senses to check for poison. She blinked in surprise; the drink was unnaturally warm, and smelled like roasting almonds, with subtle hints of cinnamon and citrus. She recognized the drink… how in the hell did a bartender get his hands on -

"Tha's Firefruit Cider, one o' m' favorite drinks. Not tha' hard shit, mind you, ba' still good. Always kept a little 'n reserve, ever since the brewer went out o' business… a good thirty years ago, 'r so I remember. As a matter a' fact," he leaned towards her, "I'm sure that you remember, too. "

Krystal remained silent for a moment. Sighing in resignation – hiding her fear, and doing an admirable job of it too - she slowly brought the cup to her lips.

"True enough," she replied, before the cider kissed her tongue.

It was… warm. Sweet, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. Memories not her own arose within her mind, emotions and desires not her own. It was one of the traits that made Firefruit Cider unique. Brewed only by Cerinians, only on the eve of Hunter's Moon, it was infused with natural magicks, and was a traditional drink at both birth and mating ceremonies. It energized the body, and filled the mind with happy memories of the brewer. This particular batch, she knew, had been brewed for the birth of a young one; closing her eyes, she could see flashes of the past. _Music of the wind flutes, the beating of leather drums - ceremonial dancing around the fire pit – two lifemates entwined in a passionate embrace - she throws her head back, eyes aglow - _

A warm fire blossomed in Krystal's stomach and rushed down her tail, which slowly tapered off to a feeling of hollow regret. She shuddered and set the mug down. "Bitter."

The barkeep remained silent, apparently lost again in the cleaning of the glass – which, despite his efforts, looked even dirtier than when he had started. Not that she was complaining; it gave her time to think, time to gather herself. New words, hastened with raw emotion, would lead to new questions – questions she was afraid, and possibly unable, to voice, questions to which she feared honest answers.

Time passed quickly – Krystal had lost track of it at some point, occupied as she was with the Firefruit Cider and her own thoughts. To receive such a gift was extremely significant amongst Cerinians. It was almost like giving a part of your soul away, giving those close to you a brief glimpse into your heart of hearts, showing them your purest intentions. But, to give such a gift, now of all times… it was a bittersweet reminder of what they had – what she _could have_had… if bloodshed had not been brought upon her people.

Something changed in the air. It felt… cold, all of a sudden. Abruptly, she snapped out of her daze, and was quick to realize that the Shark's Fin was almost empty. The chill she felt was caused by the opening of the bar door, as the last of the regulars parted ways; she and the shark man were the only two left in the tavern.

"So, shark-breath…" she mused, breaking the comfortable silence between them. The alcohol had settled in, giving her a courage she sorely lacked. "What is your intent, then? Do you mean to kill me?"

"Kill ya'?" inquired the bartender, a half-amused expression on his face. "No, lass. Why in tha' hell would I kill ya'? Ya' look half-dead as it is, wouldn't be any fun innit, now would there?" He chuckled heartily. The blue-furred vixen blinked in confusion. This man… really was impossible to read. That, or the alcohol playing tricks on her.

"No. I ain't gonna kill ya'. Matter o' fact, the bar's about ta close, 'n I've gotta turn in f'er the evenin'. So, unless y'er rentin' a room – which, from the look o' things, ya' aren't - ya' can't stay here much longer, unfortunately." The shark-faced man continued, as he untied his apron and set it on a nearby hook. Over his shoulders, he shrugged on a faded, red jacket… one that looked oddly familiar, though she couldn't fathom where she'd seen it. It was a checkered, woolen coat, made to withstand the chilly nights of the Land of Waves, and it smelt of cigar smoke and pine needles. It fit his massive frame surprisingly well, she mused. If its size were anything to go by, it must have been handmade.

Reaching into his coat pocket, the shark-faced man pulled out a thick key ring, and began shuffling through it. "Before I go, though… there's somethin' I've gotta take care of. Tha' somethin' bein' you.… ya' need ta' see a doctor, an' I wouldn't be half the man I am if I didn't get ya' to one. Ya' look like ya' can barely stand. There's a woman in town – wife o' tha' mayor, Tazuna –"

"Tazuna?" Krystal exclaimed, the strength in her voice shocking even her own ears. She quickly clambered to her feet, weakness once again forgotten. "I need to see him. _Naruto is c_–"

Suddenly, she coughed, and her quaking legs gave out. One moment, she was standing – and the next, she was flying.

"Easy there lass." The bartender stated. He gazed upon her still form, with that ever-unreadable expression of his. He cradled her like a newborn babe within his massive arms. "Case 'n point. Y'er going to see Tsunami. Shut up 'n sit tight."

Krystal mumbled something under her breath, though it was incomprehensible, even to the barkeep's seasoned hearing. He sighed, and was about to hoist her over his shoulder, but blinked in surprise when the vixen freed herself of his grip.

"Just because… you haven't given me away, doesn't mean I trust you." Krystal growled, willing herself to stand tall. She probably looked ridiculous to him, but she didn't care. She'd be damned if she had to rely on anyone else. "Escort me if you want, but I'm no sack of grain, to be tossed and handled as such."

"…Right." The barkeep murmured. "Listen, lass, y'er sick-"

Krystal raised a trembling fist. "Point me to Tazuna, by the Krazoa, or I'll – " she stepped forward, only for her legs to fail her once again. In an instant, those tree-like arms were beneath her own, holding her aloft. The shark-faced barkeep caught her with almost godlike speed, and his eyes – ever stony - softened, if slightly.

"Alright." He sighed theatrically, as he supported her staggering figure with an arm. "Guess I'm playin' bodyguard f'er the evenin'. Can't say I haven't done it b'fore."

He paused, before reaching behind the counter and pulling out a second jacket, similar to the first, though gray-green in color. "At least put this on. Can' have ya' freezin' ta' death, now can I?" He stated, easing the jacket over her shoulders.

She pushed her arms through the sleeves, and sighed at the feeling of the warm, soft wool. The jacket was far too big for her – the sleeves encompassed her hands like mittens, and the body of the jacket traveled almost to her knees – but it was a welcome gift nonetheless, shutting out the cool evening air. More than that… it smelled like home; like stories around the fire pit and cooking food.

It was the greatest gift she could have asked for.

"Come on." The hulk of a man intoned, once again holding out his arm.

Silently – and gratefully, though she'd never admit to it – she looped an arm through his, and he escorted her out into the night.

Though the giant beside her had promised a short trip, the journey seemed endless, as Krystal once again lost track of the passing of time. It could have been a minute as easily as it could have been an hour. Everything felt… surreal. Her body acted on autopilot, as the shark-man – she didn't even know his name, yet she couldn't bring herself to ask – guided her towards Tazuna's.

Or so he said. For all she knew, he could be leading her into a trap. And yet, she trusted him, almost implicitly. There was something about him… something she couldn't quite grasp; maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the tone with which he spoke… she could have sworn she'd met him before.

Or, maybe it was just the fever speaking.

She sneezed quietly, and immediately greeted the shark-man's mirthful eyes with a sharp glare.

They traversed down a winding path, gently illuminated by streetlamps on either side. Her bare feet padded along damp, cold cobblestone; the scent of ozone hung heavily in the air. The only sounds of the night were the breathing of two companions and the languid dripping of water from the roofs of nearby houses. It was a peaceful, quiet night; Krystal found her eyes harder and harder to keep open, and yet she shouldered on.

It wasn't long before the barkeep stopped, and Krystal found herself in the entryway of a modest estate.

"Here we are," announced the shark-faced man. He grinned – was he happy, or ready to pounce? – and gestured with a massive fist at a pair of oak-carved doors.

_'So… this is the home of Tazuna,'_Krystal thought. She wrapped her arms around herself, all the warmth of her jacket suddenly lost; a thick brass doorknob lay before her, taunting her with its gleaming edges.

She hesitantly approached the doorway, eyeing the doorknob as if it were some hideous beast from a childhood bedtime story. Krystal once again turned her questioning, steel-blue eyes to the man beside her, but his demeanor betrayed nothing; arms crossed over his broad chest, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, and motioned with a tilt of his head. _'Go on,'_his eyes said.

She couldn't show hesitation. She'd already felt small enough tonight, wrapped in an oversized coat, leaning on another; she'd be damned if she kept playing the damsel in distress. Small knuckles rapped on the hardwood door three times, and a short time later, a clamor of footfalls graced her ears. The door swung in with a jolt, and a boy with a shocking head of black hair appeared before her.

"…Who the hell are you supposed to be?" The boy inquired. He looked to be in his mid- to late-teens, if his size was anything to go by. His voice was rough with adolescence, and his limbs gangly, yet strong; his gaze held the passion of youth, unhampered by the world, forged in hardship. Scary eyes for one so young to hold, she thought, yet it wasn't something she hadn't seen before. Children of war were like that.

He was clothed in green worker's pants and an orange shirt, and a pair of goggles hung around his neck, secured with a leather strap. He was barefoot, and his clothing rumpled – he had probably just woken up, and thrown on clothes only moments before answering the door.

"Inari!" A much lighter voice called, this one ripe with thinly-veiled frustration. "What have I told you about harassing guests?" Krystal heard the rapid shuffling of feet, and beside the boy appeared a black-haired woman, in her mid-twenties, dressed in a blue nightgown. She tapped her feet impatiently, glaring daggers at the boy.

"Sorry, mom. But, in my defense: It's hard to let a person into your home at this time of night, let alone when you can't even see their face. She's got some type of disguise on." Inari declared, gesturing pointedly at the doorway. Again, Krystal's Illusion held strong. She had kept it up during her journey through the streets, afraid of being seen; and despite knowing that she was here to see an ally, and potentially a doctor, the fact that they were human set her teeth on edge. Thus, her cloak remained.

The barkeep chose that moment to make his presence known. He stepped into view and gently nudged past Inari, through the doorway… not an easy feat, given his size. Inari unconsciously took a step back, though not out of fear; it was as if he were used to this kind of behavior from the behemoth entering their home.

"Kid, let the woman in. Trust me. She's a friend of your brother." He stated in a bored monotone. With an audible pop, he straightened his arms above his head, shrugging off his heavy coat. "Tsunami. Always a pleasure."

"Ah, Kisame. Good to see you." Inari's mother replied, as she took his coat into her waiting arms. Krystal warily followed the raven-haired beauty inside, and Inari quietly shut the door behind them.

"How's the Kid been? Has he…"

A flow of familiar conversation arose between Tsunami and the shark-man, Kisame. It was obvious from their tones that they knew each other well, and had been friends for some time. However, Krystal could barely pay attention their words; they escaped her grasp, like fireflies on a foggy night. She was fading fast, and she knew it...

The events of the past few days were catching up to her, it seemed… and this time, she was unable to resist the aching of her body for long. She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning heavily against the closed door, pain lancing through her head.

"What's all the ruckus for? And who's the spooky bastard at the door?" Asked a new voice, one that instinctively drew her attention. It was cracked with age, yet still retained the youthful vigor that seemed to be prominent in these lands. From the nearby staircase descended an older man, garbed in trousers and a working man's tunic. Around his waist were belted the tools of a carpenter, and he held a nail between his teeth.

"Tazuna. This _young lady _is here to see you." Kisame stated firmly, as he gestured towards Krystal, who remained pressed against the door, Illusion in place.

She'd never been the social type, preferring the company of the trees and the music of the whispered wind. The most social experience she'd ever had was with Naruto, and he was a special case; Kisame was easy to talk to, because he wasn't human… at least, not entirely. She'd never once spoken to, let alone been around, this many humans. They were all strangers, and in each, she saw a potential enemy – another warrior in the night, poised to kill. She was out of her _territory_, in _someone else's home_, someone whom, by all means, _could_ and _should_ have the desire and means to_ end her_. She wasn't thinking rationally, she knew, but she couldn't help the fear that gnawed within her belly, the fight-or-flight response that had been honed within her over the past two decades, that had been reaffirmed nights ago, as she watched her companion of three months' time disappear into the brush.

"I…" a voice emerged from the shadows of the cloak, high-pitched, soft, and cracked. Tsunami stood, absent-mindedly brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Shy, are you?" The raven-haired beauty inquired. She glanced towards Kisame, who refused to meet her gaze, preferring instead to lose himself within the gentle warmth and light of the crackling fireplace. Concern etched into her features, Tsunami approached the cloaked vixen. Before Krystal could protest, the woman reached out to grab her sleeve – and gasped as her hand passed through the 'cloak' entirely. Instead of the heavy gray fabric she expected, her fingers were greeted with the touch of wool, and soft, downy fur. It was at that moment that Krystal's illusion chose to disperse, revealing the dirty, matted blue fur beneath, and a pair of bloodshot, half-lidded blue-gray eyes to the world.

"Woah –" Inari exclaimed, his eyes widening in confusion and apprehension.

Krystal's legs gave out, and she slid down the wall, shaking in unrestrained fear and exhaustion. Her tail hung limply at her sides, caked with dirt and grime. Her ears were twisted back in apprehension, flicking back and forth unconsciously.

"Shit." Tazuna whispered, surprise in his eyes, an expression mirrored by everyone in the household, save Kisame, whose gaze had not deviated from the roaring fire.

Krystal bowed her head, and a pregnant silence filled the room, save for the soft popping of burning wood.

"You're injured," Tsunami stated, breaking the tension. She knelt beside the vixen, taking in her condition with a seasoned medic's eye. Methodically, she took the vixen's pulse – weak, erratic – and placed a hand on Krystal's forehead, wincing as her hand came away hot, "and you're burning up. You have a high fever… sleep deprivation, you're dehydrated... showing signs of potential pneumonia. I'm surprised you didn't collapse earlier. Can you move?"

Krystal blinked owlishly, like a deer caught in torchlight. Her eyes were filmy, glazed over; she found it harder and harder to focus, worn as she was. The world began to sway around her. She glanced up at Tsunami, her tone confused. Weren't they going to take advantage of her weakness, and put her out of her misery? "Yes, I…" She began, only to be interrupted by a short coughing fit.

"Inari," Tsunami cried, "help me get her into bed. She needs water, rest, and a cold compress." Her son stood nearby, mouth drawn into a hard line, frowning. Rage burned within his eyes. He moved with an unnatural haste, approaching the vixen with a tension she hadn't suspected he possessed. He knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly.

The vixen closed her eyes in forlorn, tired resignation. She knew what was coming.

Inari knelt beside her and lifted her to her feet. She coughed quietly, an act which spurred Inari forward with even greater haste. He hefted her onto his back and hastily carried her up the stairs, passing Tazuna on the way. As they reached the apex of their climb, conversation resumed downstairs – though their hushed voices had lost their former cheer.

"…Why?" Krystal asked, eyes glazed over, arms hanging loosely around the boy's neck. He neglected to answer her, instead continuing his journey. Shrugging her up higher on his back, he reached out with his free hand and fumbled with a brass doorknob. With a sudden pull, the door was flung aside, and – with surprising strength – the boy lowered her onto a bed. One of the softest she'd ever felt, actually.

He pulled the covers up to her neck. "Stay here. Rest." Inari commanded. Krystal was in no shape to protest; she was too tired.

Inari flicked a nearby switch, and the room's lights were dimmed. He made for the doorway, as though to depart, but he paused momentarily, as though in thought. In a voice of one far beyond his years, he spoke.

"Appearances can be deceiving."

Inari shut the door behind him, and almost immediately, Krystal drifted off into the realm of dreams. She didn't stir when the boy returned with a cold compress, nor did she awaken when Tsunami engaged in a heated, one-sided argument the following morning, in which the raven-haired medic called Kisame an "inconsiderate asshole for not saying something sooner." As a matter of fact, she didn't stir the following night either, as the same shark-faced man stood watch beside her bed, running his fingers through her hair. She slept soundly, for the first time in what felt like months; her dreams were filled with wild things, dancing fireflies, haunting melodies, and a chiseled face she knew from long ago.

-

**[Author's Note - Fell the Tempest]**

It's been a long time, everyone. Almost a full year, in fact, since I last posted a chapter. As an apology, I've decided to go ahead and give you a little something extra - two chapters in the same week.

Possibly because of this, Near Death Experience has now topped **30,000 views!** Thanks to everyone who made it possible! You're a wonderful audience for sticking with me so long. Special thanks to **Shawn-San**, **Abraxis**, and **Cerberusx** for being faithful to the story, and for all the feedback.

Anyway, it's a pleasure to be back. Feel free to rate and review; I'm eager to hear your opinions. 


	17. Gravity

Long tendrils of rusty water snaked along the pock-marked concrete like grasping hands, clutching at the tattered remains of the hardened man's uniform. He brought the fabric to his lips, sucking with an insatiable thirst at the damp fabric, in an effort to slake the hunger that gnawed at him like a malnourished attack dog.

It dripped steadily, evenly, with a slow and measured gait; like the footsteps of dead soldiers, or the ticking of a clock. It tasted like blood, rust, and dirt, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was a rhythm he had grown accustomed to; without it, he was quite sure he'd go mad. It was his lifeline, his tether to sanity.

How long had he been there? He couldn't quite tell; despite his best efforts, he had lost track of the passage of days. A quite difficult task, given that the interrogation cells of ROOT were housed almost a half-mile below the surface of Konoha, so deep that it could not be touched by sunlight or the day's heat. As far as he could tell, between three and five weeks had passed… or could it have been more? He had been subject to regular 'interrogation' sessions, though those had ceased some time ago.

They had started as simple affairs. He was knocked unconscious, his energy sealed away, and his ankle cuffed with a thick iron brace to the back wall of the cell; attempting to channel for any techniques caused him extreme pain, and he found himself too weak to put up a proper fight, having not eaten any solid food during the length of his stay. He found himself barely surviving off of the gruel they fed him – often times laced with sedatives and psychedelics, which he could detect by smell, and so avoided – and by eating the mold that grew alongside the water pooling within his cell.

Not the healthiest diet, he knew, but certainly a better alternative to starvation.

After the first week – full of pomp and circumstance, attempts to instill fear, and so forth – the ROOT 'interrogator' had made his presence known. To be fair, Kiba was surprised that they had waited as long as they did. The tattooed warrior was not someone who was easily intimidated. His will was like that of hot iron; easily molded into shape, and once cooled, unlikely to be bent or broken.

It came as no surprise to the man when an old face appeared in his cell: thinly arched eyebrows, bored expression, maniacal grin and one blood-red eye. He had heard that Kakashi was sick in the head, especially since the deaths of his teammates; however, he had no idea that the ex-jounin had taken up _torture_ as a new hobby.

When Kakashi had reached out to him, it was as though his heart were threatening to burst in his chest. He could _feel_ the electric charge in the air. The once-gritty air smelled heavily of ozone and killer intent.

Palm inches from his face, he had one of those 'calm before the storm' moments, where events seemed to be almost surreal; in that moment, he was nine years old again, walking with his aunt along the dusty, sunny path to their little home in the Inuzuka district of Kohona. The blackbirds were singing softly, aloof as they were in the branches of the evergreens, and he paused to listen.

And then, the illusion shattered. The birdsong turned into the viper hiss of discharging electricity. The sun on his forehead became intensely hot, one eye welding shut, and he screamed with the agony of a dying man. He felt a shudder as electricity coursed throughout his body; his body shook erratically with the sudden nervous feedback. His vision grew red, then white, then black. He was beyond pain.

The man shuddered at the thought, one hand instinctively cupping his face. It was a habit he'd picked up - palming the hand-shaped scar that was burned into his pale flesh, where his former comrade had given him a lesson on the many applications of his famous _Chidori_. By channeling lightning energy into one's fist, it allowed the user to disintegrate anything he touched at a molecular level, causing intense pain and nerve damage.

Kiba ran his finger gently along the edges of the palm-print, wincing. The burn marks sprawled in creeping tendrils across his face, with the 'thumb print' crossing over the bridge of his nose, and the 'palm' covering his cheek, eye, and clipping the edges of his hairline. The wound was raw, tender and exposed; however, the intense lightning had cauterized the destroyed flesh upon contact, so thankfully infection wasn't an issue. That being said, he didn't know if he'd be able to move the left side of his face, below the eye, anymore.

Assuming he got out of here, of course… which was looking increasingly unlikely as time continued to pass. Maintaining prisoner upkeep was expensive, Kiba knew, even if the prisoner was being starved. Guards to keep watch, the facilities, the security required to keep such a cell under-the-radar – it was far from cheap. If they didn't have a use for him, they would dispose of him. The marking of his face was a sign of that – it was as if he'd been stamped with an expiration date.

His days were numbered, and he knew it.

However, he refused to panic. Years of intense training and live combat had been an unforgiving teacher. Panic was the bane of all men; it ensnared the senses and entrapped a man within a prison of his own making. Panic would not solve the crisis he faced. No. Reason was his only chance of escape, despite the pain it brought.

_Where was Tsunade?_ It was a thought that had haunted every waking hour of his existence, ever since his betrayal and capture. Surely, Tsunade would have noticed his disappearance. He was, after all, under her direct employ.

His employment in the Black Ops was a cover. Yes, he was listed as an official member. He ran patrol duty, just like any other soldier. He slept in the same bunker as his fellow soldiers, he followed orders, and he did what warriors of his caliber did best: hunt for information. Rather than report to the new ANBU Captain – _that creepy bastard has quite a bit to answer for_ – he had, instead, discretely copied all of his missives and forwarded them to the Hokage herself.

Since the new Captain had been initiated into office, things had been… quiet. Far too quiet. The meetings he had with the village and its representatives had been few and far between. When they did meet, his eyes held an unreadable, conniving light that the village leaders found unsettling; his budget reports were often suspicious, with many resources being allocated to projects she hadn't approved. More importantly, there were whispers amongst the warriors loyal to her – that Danzou was plotting to overthrow her, and he was resurrecting his old ROOT division to do so.

ROOT… a task force solely dedicated to serve the crippled madman, at the expense of the village. A private army of brainwashed, soulless killers. _Machine men, with machine minds, and machine hearts._ They were, in effect, perfect warriors; but in becoming such, they lost the 'spark' that all men contained. Each perfectly measured step, each empty glance, left a feeling of revulsion and horror within the pit of Kiba's stomach. It was a sensation worse than any torture they could inflict upon his body.

The air was cold, bitterly so; after all, the interrogation cells of ROOT were housed almost a half-mile below the surface of the village, beneath layers of explosive-resistant and energy-nullifying shielding. They were designed to keep their secretly-detained prisoners in, as well as to blind any unwanted eyes.

It was in one of these cells that Kiba sat. He passed the hours staring at his reflection in the dim light, eyes never wavering, his breath even and slow, his expression like that of a cheetah as it stalks its prey from afar.

The days were long; the nights, longer still. However, like a stone being beaten by a coursing river, he would endure. He always had.

Suddenly, he was broken from his trance by the sound of feet scuffing heavily on concrete, punctuated by the ominous rattle of chains. He couldn't see what was going on – the cell bars were too tightly grouped to allow his head passage – but he could guess. There was a new prisoner being inducted into Root's home-away-from-home. Tentatively, he sniffed the air – and his turned sharply, every sense on high alert.

Hastily, Kiba regained his sense of calm, taking deep, measured breaths. This could just be another ploy by the scarecrow, an illusion – or perhaps a hallucinogenic side-effect of his diet – that was designed to get him to lower his guard. He was anxious to see his friend, more so than he'd ever admit. His heart was like a thunderstorm, pounding away in his chest, setting his soul alight with a nervous tension.

He had to be cautious. If this was a ploy, he couldn't let it get the best of him. He paused for a moment, then began the arduous task of planning. He'd had every opportunity to study his prison, and had a fair idea of its layout. It was solid concrete, with wrought iron bars, and the new prisoner was at least two cells over. There was no chance of breaking through the walls.

Kiba pulled a sliver of glass out of his pocket; he had grabbed one of his teeth, knocked out during his latest session with the scarecrow, and thrown it at the light bulb illuminating his cell, shattering it into tiny fragments. He'd grabbed one of the glass shards and hidden it beneath his torso before a prison guard had arrived to investigate, and had subsequently lost consciousness, praying that the shard would still be there when he awoke.

Of course, the light was an old thing, and the blowout had been attributed to a power surge caused by the _Chidori _which marked his face; after the bulb had been replaced, Kiba had used the sliver of glass in his hand – barely bigger than the head of a spoon – to send light signals into other cells, using the pool of water in front of him as a mirror, to try and gather information.

However, the signal flares went unanswere, and he couldn't use the glass as a mirror to see into other cells. So far it had been utterly useless. Even his sharpened vision couldn't discern more than a hazy figure when gazing through such filters as broken glass and murky water. He silently cursed, clenching his fist tightly around the glass. It shattered in his grip, the sound like a blade piercing his eardrums.

That was another problem. Sound tended to carry far in the halls of hollow concrete; it was a tactic used by the guards to intimidate prisoners, Kiba supposed, and discouraged prisoner communication. A hushed voice could travel forever in a cave like this; it acted as a light in the depths of the ocean, to which the monsters swam.

Worse still, his physical strength and energy were both suppressed - by, of course, to the drugs and seals they had administered to him over the previous weeks, combined with his poor diet. He was as weak as a newborn pup, and as blind as one too.

However, there was one advantage he still had; the element of surprise. By now, ROOT assumed that he was completely isolated, completely vulnerable. However, the genetic gifts of his ancestors still remained: sharper senses, including sight and hearing.

They had tried to cage the hound. A useless, and futile, attempt.

The broken class had cut his hand badly, and blood was seeping slowly from the wound. _Scent. _Using the shard of glass, he then began making delicate scratches on the concrete beside him. He scraped at the cracked concrete in intricate patterns, punctuated with thick pauses. _Sound._ Occasionally, he would rest, indicating an end to his message, and then repeat it again.

The sounds of glass on concrete were barely audible, even to him; that was the idea. If his intuition was correct, the person in the cell nearby would be able to pick up the sound, as he too possessed enhanced hearing and smell. And, more to the point: they were formed teammates, and had used such skills in tandem before.

He almost couldn't believe his ears when a familiar scratching sounded in return. A grin split his face, and his pale cheeks regained some of their life, like that of a drunk man recounting a tale of victory.

_Naruto._

The bastard was _alive_. The realization was like a slap to the face, snapping him back into reality. He felt the first vestiges of hope burning in his chest. It was like he had been born a new man. The aches and pains of hunger and bloodshed vanished for a moment; his comrade and friend was here.  
_Captured._

That thought cooled Kiba's head, and he grimaced in disgust at his reaction. He had nothing to be happy about – Naruto was in the same situation he was. Captured, in all likelihood tortured, and imprisoned by people who'd like nothing more than to see him ground into the dust.

Regret turned into a righteous determination; the willpower that Kiba possessed came to the forefront, overriding the mask of cool indifference that had been his protection over the past weeks. His mind went into overdrive, observing the actions of the guards over the past weeks with the fervor of a man possessed. He established a rough timeline, examining guard patrol times and re-organizing his thoughts.

They may be imprisoned, but he'd be _damned_ if they didn't try to escape. He'd lost his blonde teammate once, and he refused to do so again.

His chipped fingernails scraped softly against the concrete once more.

_"Fox. Status? Plan."_ He silently intoned. After a brief pause, the sound of nails on concrete greeted his ears – it was the most beautiful sound he'd heard in what felt like years.

"_Hound._ _Injuries minor. Drained. Immobile. Otherwise acceptable." _Kiba cursed under his breath, but quickly resumed his communication.

"_Hound also."_

"Time?"

He honestly couldn't guess. How long had he been here for? His nose said weeks, his jutting ribs said months. His mind… well. He'd lost track of time; sunlight tends to be difficult to see when you're leagues beneath the surface of the earth. The ROOT weren't even kind enough to keep the lights on a regular schedule. _Bastards._

"Unknown,"

the hound replied. He sighed, leaning back against the stone wall. By now, the shard of glass in his hand had deteriorated to a fine powder.

"Sitrep?"

Kiba hesitated. Could he be certain that this wasn't an illusion? What if the damned scarecrow had gotten inside of his head, and extracted their code? He banished such thoughts with a fierce determination; he needed to take action, and anything was better than sitting here, waiting to die. A light had emerged at the end of the tunnel, and he would chase it even if every bone in his body were cracked.

Communication took quite a while – a few hours, at least – because their code language had been developed for mission-critical communication, and not for conveying complex ideas. Worse still, Kiba's memory was a little impacted by the lack of proper rest, so he had a hard time remembering how to 'say' certain words.

Nevertheless, he managed to get the point across. Secrets, forged in his weary mind and inscribed into the earth, told a mesmerizing tale of intrigue and chaos. His message was cold and detached, like the stone it was carved into; with the professionalism of a warrior, he told his blonde comrade how tensions had been rising between Tsunade and Danzo in their struggle for power over the village. How blood poured like magma through the streets, thick and hot, as civilians and military began to align themselves with the competing factions.

"… a_fter Fox death. Civilian Informants killed. Soldiers missing. Tsunade suspicious. Hound sent to investigate. ROOT invades Black Ops. Traitors. Possible village war…"  
_  
He paused, as his ears were suddenly met with the sound of footsteps echoing through the prison corridor. He continued pawing at the concrete, as if nothing were amiss, a look of placid disinterest plastered upon his gaunt face.

_"Incoming hostile."_ He wrote. _"Scarecrow. Plan?"_

The footsteps grew closer, the click-clacking of metal heels on concrete growing eerily louder. Kiba's eyes dilated, as repressed memories bubbled to the surface of his mind, and he bared his fangs in agitation. His breathing deepened, his arms shaking with an intense fury.

_"Possible. Be ready."_ Was the only response he recieved. The footsteps were soon given substance: as he had guessed, Kakashi had returned for another 'session'. Kiba backed himself up against his cell wall, mentally preparing himself for a fight.

However, it was with a sly grin that Kakashi passed the hound's cell entirely. His footsteps, lazy and even, receded into the darkness. The hound was confused at first, as a bleeding man untouched when a shark swims past. Confusion, however, was quickly replaced by horror.

"…No. No." Kiba whispered, his voice hoarse, as he attempted to stand. His legs gave out beneath him, and he pulled desperately at the chain securing him to the cell wall.

"You- you _bastard_. Leave him alone!" He cried, ankle being savagely bitten by the cold steel of his ankle cuff. He stumbled and fell to his knees, grunting at the pain. _Too weak… can't move._

A soft, melodic chuckle was the only response he received, as the scarecrow's footsteps suddenly ceased; like a panther in the night, he peered through the bars of Naruto's cell, leering eyes aglow with demonic energy and an insatiable hunger.

"My, my… at last, teacher and student are reunited." He whispered. He smiled then – star-like teeth doing little to hide the cruelty in his voice – and laughed heartily. "We have _much_ catching up to do, you and I…"


	18. Clockwork Sparrow

"I have nothing to say to you." The blonde intoned, peering up at his former teacher with defiant eyes. His voice was calm and unwavering, like the reflection of the stars in a clear pool of water.

Most people would have broken upon setting foot into this cell. The blonde was not most people.

Admittedly, he had been roughed up a bit, but he was beyond caring about his injuries. Such things didn't even register to him. He was alive, he was sane, and, more importantly, _she_ had gotten away. Very little mattered to him anymore; though he had not yet resigned himself to the blackness, he'd already experienced death, and so he did not fear it. As an owl learns not to fear the darkness in which it hunts, so did the blonde thrive in his captivity, in his struggle for survival. If anything, the idea of dying was somewhat relieving. It would mean an end to the struggle, the shirking of his debts; he could simply let go, and be at peace.

However, such thoughts were fleeting, like the scent of ozone after a thunderstorm; clear and comforting, yet temporary. Too much was at stake for his weary bones to return to the earth. For now, the loner found himself with a pack to care for - with Kiba, his longtime friend and ally, and now with _her. _This was something that Kakashi did not know, something he probably wouldn't be able to comprehend.

That was good. His arrogance would be his undoing.

Kakashi's appearance had changed much since their days of student and teacher, though his aloof, ever-superior demeanor remained the same. He had forsaken the green-and-navy attire of the Konoha military in favor of a black kimono and tabi, similar to what one would wear to a funeral. However, his gloves remained – standard issue combat attire, fingerless leather gloves adorned with wafer-thin steel plates on the palm, back, and knuckles. They were gloves with which Naruto was intimately familiar, as he had been on the receiving end of those steel plates for many years during training.

This was good. He knew what to expect; therefore, he had the advantage.

"Disrespectful," muttered Kakashi, as though he were a playwright, projecting his words to an imagined audience. "Then again, why expect civilized behavior from an animal?"

The blonde knew better than to respond.

As though in thought, the scarecrow paused, wiry fingers gently tapping cold iron, the steel plate on his palm gliding across the bars with a serpent's hiss. It was an eerie sound, one that set brought tremors to bones and nauseated even the strongest of men, and yet the blonde's expression was unchanged. Like stone beneath the ocean waves, he would endure.

"Hmm. And you used to be so talkative," continued Kakashi, unmoved by his captive's resolute silence. "Always chasing after your teammate's skirt, like a dog in heat… barking about how you would be the greatest warrior in our village." The scarecrow sighed half-heartedly, running a stray hand through his gravity-defying gray hair.

Scarecrow. It was his Black Ops designation. It was… fitting, really, in a macabre sort of way. He might have looked like a man, even talked like one – but beneath the uniform, underneath the mask, existed a hollow shell of a man, a mockery of life. He was a being seemingly without a conscience, for whom the ends always justified the means. When he spoke, it brought a chill to those who listened, and caused hearts to race and still in equal measure.

"Sadly, bark was all you had. A shame someone didn't… put you out of your misery. Save us all the headache." The scarecrow shifted suddenly, and from behind his back emerged a familiar blade. A _very_ familiar blade. It was about a foot long from tip to hilt, wrought of a metal that gave off a silvery sheen in the dim lighting of the prison. Despite its majesty, it gave off an aura of malice; it was pumped full of malicious energy, and smelled of old blood. The blonde could _feel _it inside his chest, though not to any killer intent or illusion by his former teacher; no, the sight of the blade had taken him back to that night in the city, where the same blade had been used to pierce his chest. He reflexively put a hand over his heart, wincing as Kakashi scraped the edge of the blade along his knuckle guards, the sound like the shrill cry of a dying rabbit.

Naruto's brows furrowed, his mask of calm complacency shattered like fine porcelain. '_Damn it,_' he seethed, trying to cover up his moment of weakness. However, it was a moment that the scarecrow had planned, and so it was expected; like a shark hovering before a bleeding foe, he grinned, his teeth white as bleach, his eyes as empty as a moonless night.

"I see you recognize this." Intoned his former teacher, as cold, piercing orbs met the gaze of sapphire. He spoke as though discussing the weather with an old friend; the wicked blade was raised into the dim light, its razor edge casting deceivingly gentle rays that cascaded upon the stone walls of the dim corridor.

"It was a gift from my father, you see," the scarecrow continued, entirely focused on his reflection in the cold steel. "It's a shame I won't get the chance to use it tonight. It's seen many battles, shed a lot of blood…" he trailed off, bloodlust dancing behind his smoldering pitch-black eyes.

The blond suppressed a shudder, then, looking away. He lamented his weakness in the face of this man, this demon of his worst nightmares; was he not supposed to be the strength of his village? Was he not a warrior of courage and renown? To be rendered so helpless, so humiliated… he was like a caged stallion, a noble spirit, restrained by those who thought themselves better.

And it angered him.

He tried to dismiss the emotion, as he did with his fear; however, such was easier said than done. He had found his partner, a victim of the scarecrow's less-than-tender mercies; were he free, he would not be sitting so idly by. Though the idea of killing always left a bitter taste in his mouth, he knew without a doubt that he would slay the man before him without hesitation. It was as though he were stamping out a childhood monster, one that had grown fat on the blood of children.

"Don't get me wrong. I'd love to see my blade run red with blood once again. The sight never quite gets old." Kakashi continued, unphased by his former student's change in demeanor. He twirled the knife around one finger in a lazy arc.

"Unfortunately, Danzo likes to play his little games of authority. So, rather than giving me the honor of finishing off the Demon, he's convened the council, and they're in the process of convicting you. As the story goes, you turned on the _hound_", Kakashi gestured towards Kiba's cell with the tip of his knife, "and were apprehended after killing several more members of Konoha's Black Ops Division."

That much was true, Naruto conceded. He had taken many lives… however, the circumstances of their deaths would undoubtedly be twisted by the prosecution. The fact that he was acting in self-defense would be all but omitted from their testimony, as would the nature of his appearance, or _her _presence.

The blonde supposed that the secrecy of this trial held a silver lining. The fewer people that knew of the existence of the blue-furred vixen, the fewer would be hunting her. It was a matter of survival; his was very fleeting at this point, yet hers was still in question. If the prosecution truly pushed this angle, he wouldn't contest it; protesting would do little good against the puppets of a madman, who had already had their movements orchestrated before the show began.

He would face his death – his second death – like a man. And he would accept it, if it meant that she could escape unharmed.

"We kill him, plant the weapon on you. We line up several witnesses to testify about your mental instability – and who would be a better source of testimony than your former teacher?"

His grin, once relaxed, grew a little too wide; his pupils dilated, and a low growl began to emerge at the back of his throat. Eyes alight with the thrill of the hunt, he turned his back to the blonde, a mocking gesture.

The sultry vixen may have been protected by his resignation to death, but this cold declaration of his oldest friend's fate struck a little too close to home. In the scarecrow's haste to rattle his prisoner, he had made a crucial mistake: he had overstepped his boundaries, and in doing so restored the vigor of his prisoner.

Naruto growled in response, eyes smoldering with a barely suppressed rage. _Kiba._ So much for accepting his lot. If the scarecrow meant to harm his comrade, his brother…

No wall of stone, nor of politics, would be able to stop the onslaught of his inner fury.

"Of course, the trial will be held behind closed doors. Just like you." He intoned, chuckling bitterly at some joke unknown to Naruto. The blonde forcefully bottled up his emotions – something he had grown quite good at, having had to practice it frequently on the field of battle – and took a moment to process that information.

So, the War Hawk and his pet scarecrow were going behind the backs of the council. This was foreboding news, yet extremely important, something the blonde was sure to remember.

The council of Konoha was made up of two halves: the warrior caste, and the civilian caste. The Warrior caste was made of the village's clan heads – warriors of recognized prowess and lineage, who often possessed genetic traits that set them apart from their peers, such as Bloodline Limits. Their service was strictly in a military and security manner, their tenure lasted for the duration of their clan's approval, and their decisions were backed with the authority of the Hokage. The blond was well-liked amongst the clans, and had spent years training with the clans' future leaders, even working in the field with them from time to time. His comrade-in-arms, Kiba Inuzuka, was one such individual.

The civilian caste, on the other hand, was one of slightly less repute. Comprised of wealthy merchants and elected politicians, it embodied the will of the people, balancing the needs of the state versus the needs of the populace. However, short terms of office and high salaries led to the occasional instances of corruption; such was the nature of men.

Furthermore, many members of the civilian council bore grudges towards Naruto. Admittedly, he hadn't been the most responsible teenager; occasional acts of vandalism dotted his record. However, the heat of their anger was like that of molten lava; simmering just below the surface, unwilling to cool, and merciless. Such anger could not be the product of vandalism, a petty crime which he had more than earned forgiveness from during his years of service in Konoha's military.

It was not the blonde whom they hated, but the demon sealed within his psyche; in the face of such overwhelming power, faced with the terror of memories painfully remembered, even the noblest of men could break, forsaking reason, forsaking morality. The blonde hero understood this; neither blamed the council for their ignorance, nor held it against them.

However, he would not simply lay down and die to help them sleep at night. The blonde's resolve hardened further, into an unbending shield of iron, providing him safe haven against the bitter sting of his former teacher's words. He did not grace the scarecrow with a responded, opting to stare at the cracked, musty concrete beneath his feet.

If he had looked up, he knew, Kakashi would have opted to kill the blonde that moment, for the animalistic fury concealed within the steel of his eyes was unmatched.

"You will not live to see the sunrise." Kakashi intoned. "And with your death, the last drop of demon blood will be erased from this great village." Fully expecting the rant to continue, the blonde was surprised when the soft tenor of the scarecrow ceased; a foreboding silence filled the room, as the sea in the absence of a thunderstorm.

An odd look overcame the scarecrow, then; a vulnerability appeared in the cool complacency that he draped about him like a cloak. It was a look of old sorrow mixed with self-hate, like that of a father who has witnessed the death of his son. In that instant, for just a heartbeat – the grey-haired captor was human again, his spirit failing under the weight of age, the pain of loss. His shoulders were hunched, no longer in relaxed apathy, but as though carrying a heavy burden, his soul as barren as the night desert, and his future just as dark.

It was a look of regret, of knowing the events to come but unable to change their outcome. It was the look of a man who resigned himself to committing a foul deed, making a terrible choice, for he had no other option. The scarecrow stood, a lone defender against the birds, baking in the summer heat, worn with the passing of the seasons.

It was entirely out of place for such a man. Perhaps Kakashi wasn't as insane as the rumor mill made him out to be… or maybe he was trying to manipulate the blonde further. Either way, the look hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You're a fool if you think my death will accomplish anything." Stated the blond.

"We're all fools of a sort, aren't we?" The grey-haired warden inquired, easing back into his cool façade as though it had never left. "The difference between us is that you're a dead fool, and I'm not."

"We're all going to die someday." Naruto replied, raising his head. He stared into teacher's eyes, as though he were looking into the man's soul. His rage had since cooled, tempered into a sword which he would use to cut down the enemy before him. "Time is the justice that examines all offenders, the noose that pays all debts. It's an inevitable truth, a jury that we all must face one day. The only thing we can truly change is the manner of our deaths."

The blonde hero blinked once, and his resolve hardened. He raised a clenched fist up to his mouth and bit down on his thumb hard, enough to draw blood. He gestured to the scarecrow with his bloodstained fist, and his eyes glowed briefly with an otherworldly power.

He opened his mouth… and when he spoke, his voice was not his own. The sound of a temple gong ringing echoed through the chamber, and in that moment, no longer was Naruto a mere prisoner; he was something more, a being of unfathomable depth and power, an emissary of a plane long forgotten. His words echoed off of the chamber walls eerily, as though not one, but a thousand souls were speaking. A pact was formed, a promise written in blood and sealed with the will of a man who resigned himself to death long ago.

**"Scarecrow. On my blood and honor, you will feel the cold sting of justice." **


	19. Struggle

NDE 18 

She couldn't be sure of the exact time of her awakening, or if she had awoken at all. To her tired eyes, everything was hazy, as though she were peering through a thick mist. Worse still, her arms refused to move, the cool embrace of cotton bed sheets stronger than the greatest vice. Time slipped idly by, unnoticed by the unblinking woman; she absently stared at the wall beside her resting place, trapped in the void between dreams and reality. Sleep paralysis, it was called; a trancelike state where the mind was awakened, yet the body remained asleep. A state in which the muscles weakened, and the senses died, the sleeper's only solace being the hallucinations and half-dreams brought upon her by the subconscious mind.

She blinked, and struggled to sit up. However, her will had no substance behind it; her arms, like the corpses of ancient trees consumed by the muck of a desolate swampland, remained pinned by her sides, refusing to obey her commands. Even something as simple as turning her head was as rendered impossible. She parted her lips to scream in frustration and terror, but was unable to let loose more than a whisper of breath.

Then, the visions began. Strange symbols swam across the wood panels, similar to those of her people, yet… different. Where the script of her people flowed across parchment like calm, clear water, this text was… jagged, impure, unclean. She couldn't discern any meaning from them in her half-conscious state. The words scrawled themselves across the wall, boiling from the writhing shadows cast by a nearby flickering candle.

Dripping to the floor, the shadows pooled, coalescing into a vaguely human shape. It was a sickly thing – pale, pitch black skin, sunken eyes, all knobby edges and coarse sinew. Its eye sockets were empty, surrounded by shadow, as though it had removed its own eyes and smeared the blackened, greasy blood around the sockets. It crouched on the floor in front of her prone form, twitching erratically. It clicked its teeth, and though she could not hear it, the sound caused tremors in her very _soul. _Her breath hitched as the nightmare approached her bedside, leaning forward to grip the tender skin of her neck with its jagged, chipped teeth. She imagined that she could taste the stink of its breath, that she could _feel_ the moist heat on her fur._  
_  
Lightning struck the earth, as though the fist of a vengeful god.

Awareness came to her for a brief moment, sudden perception hitting her with all the grace of a descending sledgehammer. The chapped skin of her lips, the roughness of her dry throat, burned like salt water; the smell of tobacco blended with berries and hazelnut filled her with equal parts familiarity and pain, for their intensity was something she could barely handle in her current state. In the distance, perhaps outside of the nearby window, came the gentle sound of rainfall, each bead a needle being driven into her head.

"_Fuck-_" she exclaimed, sitting up quickly, the sheets haphazardly cast aside by the sudden movement. A quick check to her side revealed that the monster of her dreams had, of course, vanished. She mentally scolded herself for reacting to such a thing, but that did little to dull the ache of shame in her belly, nor the rampant beating of her heart.

She sighed, the rush of adrenaline leaving her system as quickly as it came. The weakness of her awakening had returned, though she was able to shrug it aside with no small amount of effort. The headache had made a comeback appearance as well. The blue-furred vixen knew that she was probably feverish, but couldn't bring herself to care. Too much was unknown; too much was at stake for her to allow herself more rest. She needed answers.

With a grunt, the vixen heaved herself out of the bed, though she immediately fell to her knees, legs shaking from exertion. Thinking quickly, the vixen used the cracks in the hardwood wall, and pulled herself to her feet. The first few steps she took were murder, but as her bare feet padded softly across the wooden tiles, her strength seemed to return.

At least, that's what she told herself. She hated feeling helpless.

"_Get ahold of yourself, alpha_." Krystal thought, finding a measure of comfort in the words. Though tenuous, the strength they brought aided her immensely; the trembling in her legs abated, her back straightened, and she held herself with a cold confidence once more.

She was naked; she'd probably been stripped of her bloodstained, ragged clothing when she was being treated for her sickness. Though she didn't mind nudity – such was a common practice of her people, after all – clothing was the social norm of humans, and also provided a measure of comfort, both physical and mental, for the vixen. In unfamiliar territory, one couldn't take too many precautions. Thankfully, the coat that the bartender – Kisame – had lent her was draped across a bedpost, as though it had been prepared for her. She slipped into the coat, and found herself momentarily distracted by the soft fabric and the heavenly scent of cigar smoke.

Clearing the sleep from her eyes, she opened the bedroom door.

The house was as she remembered. She emerged into a short hallway, a staircase to her right descending into the common room of the house. The windows of the home were open; the hallways were well lit by the midmorning sun. Below, she could make out familiar voices – the gravelly, heavily accented tones of the bartender who escorted her here, as well as the soft tenor of a mother and the boisterous laughter of a family man. The sound filled her with mixed emotions; nostalgia kissed with the softest hint of jealousy, among other things. The vixen paused at the top of the stairwell, running a hand absently over lacquered wood.

Silently, she mustered the courage to continue on.

The vixen quietly descended the staircase, but the creaking of old floorboards gave her away long before the denizens of the home could see her. As she reached the landing, she took careful note of three people inhabiting the living room, each giving her a piercing look that she tried to ignore. Such was easier said than done, however.

"Ye're up," the shark-man said, eyeing her with an apathetic, aloof tone… one that may have contained a hint of approval. Krystal couldn't be certain. He was sitting languidly at the table, holding a cherry-wood pipe in his hand. After a brief moment of silence, he took a long drag, blowing a gentle ring of smoke into the still air. Krystal took in the scent; a mellow, yet somewhat heady blend of almonds and tobacco, with a hint of spice. It fit him, she decided, the scent easing a little of the tension out of her shoulders.

"She shouldn't be. It's only been two days." Tsunami said, frowning in disapproval at the shark-man. "And for the last time, Kisame, put that thing out. If not for your own health, then for hers."

The shark-man gave her a lidded glance, and then silently returned to the comfort of his pipe, as though she had not spoken. The raven-haired beauty frowned, an out-of-place look for one with features as porcelain as hers. It was the look of a frustrated mother, having to deal with a rebellious child; one who struggled to balance compassion with discipline, one who was fairly used to having her way. The irony of the situation was not lost on Krystal, though she made sure to stifle the smile that threatened to emerge.

"It's alright," Krystal muttered, surprised at the sudden rasping of her own voice. "I… like the scent."

"Ye' see? She likes the scent." Kisame grinned, once again showing a few too many teeth. This time, the vixen wasn't as bothered by it; she vaguely remembered him sitting by her bedside during her time unconscious. He'd seen her vulnerability and hadn't taken advantage of it; as far as she was concerned, he was an ally, if not a friend.

She repeated this to herself, trying to ignore the glint of his razor-sharp teeth, seemingly infinite in number.

"Dad?" Tsunami ventured, her irritated gaze not leaving that of the grinning shark before her. The heavyset man beside her, clearly amused, grinned childishly at his daughter.

"Sorry, girl, but your father's a little occupied at the moment," Tazuna replied, as he finished fishing a lighter out of his pocket. He fumbled with it for a moment, and then, with a sharp, metallic click, he lit a similar pipe that rested between his lips. He lounged in his seat, sighing contentedly as a thin stream of smoke curled into the air. "That's the good stuff."

Tsunami sighed heavily, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Such children…"

This time, the blue-furred vixen couldn't mask the chuckle. It was a brief, mellow sound, like that of wind chimes from a distance, hearty and natural, a rosebud of the soul.

"Not you, too," Tsunami protested, despite the turning of her own lips. She straightened herself, brushing invisible crumbs off of her kimono as though to achieve a modicum of dignity, and then announced, "I'm going to prepare breakfast. There's yet work to do..."

Giving Kisame a pointed, half-hearted glare, she turned and brushed past the blue-furred vixen. As she did, she rolled her eyes and whispered, "_Men,_" the soft tenor of her voice filled with equal parts exasperation and good humor.

She departed, taking to the stairs that the vixen had descended moments before. The pitter-patter of the raven's feet quieted, and Krystal found herself alone with the two men.

Silence ensued. Krystal stood, uncomfortably, beside the base of the steps, not quite sure what course of action to take. Staying in someone else's home, let alone a human's, was something entirely new for her; she knew not their etiquette, nor their culture, nor did she know these two men in particular. They'd expressed their affection for her in their actions, and the last thing she wanted to do was to disrespect them and their hospitality.

"So," Tazuna tentatively began, only to be silenced with a sharp look from Kisame. The shark-man gestured with a hand, beckoning for the quiet vixen to sit beside them. Krystal did so, easing herself into one of the chairs, back ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap. Her ears lay flat, her tail twitching in agitation.

"The boys down at the plaza called me in today, to help with laying the foundation for a new apartment complex," said Tazuna, "but they can deal without me. I think that playing host is a little more important. And besides, I'm _retired_." He put a heavy emphasis on that word, as though it was a bad joke, "like that word means anything to them. I'm going to grab my grandson, get him out of bed. He was up late last night training – a good whack with the ol' Stonesetter'll do the trick."

With a disarming grin, the bridge-builder stood, pocketing his favorite pipe. He deftly whipped a flat-headed hammer out of his toolbelt and pantomimed a heroic-looking strike, accompanied by a comical _swoosh_. A very small smile emerged on the vixen's face, and she found it hard to stay upset for long; something about the amiable old man was heartening, though she couldn't place a finger on it.

The old man winked jovially at her and retreated upstairs, hammer in tow, evidently to wake up Inari.

Krystal met Kisame's gaze, and held it for a moment. He sighed, then abandoned his seat and began digging through a nearby cupboard. He retrieved two stout glasses, each one – thankfully – clean. He busied himself about the kitchen, grabbing a variety of bottles and spices, easing himself into the role of bartender.

"Can I get ye' something to drink?" Kisame asked, before putting a bowl of fresh fruit before her. Rather than answer, the blue-furred vixen stared blankly at her lap, eyes unfocused. His words reminded her of the other night, which brought about much darker, more vivid memories.

"Look… yer clothes were destroyed. Bloodstained. They could have been marked with tracers. Had to burn 'em. Y've come through quite the ordeal, lass." The shark began, his voice taking on a professional, clinical tone. He sprawled in his chair, one arm over the backrest, pipe gripped loosely between two fingers. Smoke drifted lazily into the air.

"By yer scent, I'm thinking ye' ran here all the way here from the Leaf Village in th' span of a few days. Quite a feat for one as green as you." Kisame grunted thoughtfully, a very odd sound that filtered through the gills on either side of his neck. He glanced over her injuries, expressionless, save for the furrowing of his brow.

Still, Krystal remained silent. She could see where this conversation was heading, and she didn't need her telepathy to do so. Kisame was the straightforward sort; beating around the bush equated with wasted time to the bartender, and for that the vixen was grateful. It was best not to think too much about her predicament; like the summer heat, an abundance of such thoughts poisoned the soul and sapped the will from even the strongest of men.

"The question is, why?" He continued. "What brings a woman – a Cerinian, thought extinct, no less – halfway across the continent, to the door of a foreman?" He glowered at the vixen. "An' what's this about Naruto? The brat alright?"

Krystal steeled herself against the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her better judgment. She took a shaky breath, and let it out slowly, the image of her mother singing a lullaby coming to the forefront of her thoughts. It calmed her slightly, soothing the knot in her throat, giving her the courage she needed to speak.

"I… I'm not sure." Krystal began. "It all happened so fast –"

"Take yer time." Kisame said, in a strangely soft tone for one with a voice as rough and deep as the Endless Chasm.

And so she told him all she could. Everything, from the moment that the blonde had first made an appearance into her life, a wicked blade lodged into his chest. Her memory was not an issue; she remembered each detail, every second of every day, with near-perfect clarity. Such was a gift not uncommon among Cerinians, especially those with mental powers. Having a nearly eidetic memory, however, was a double-edged sword. Certain topics – her first kill, and his sacrifice, in particular – were incredibly hard. She had to pause often, and without even realizing it, she had finished the glass of bourbon that Kisame had put before her as well as a second and most of a third.

At some point, Tazuna and Inari had returned to the kitchen, but Krystal had hardly noticed their presence, so consumed was she by the memories of the previous nights. Her voice, once raw with emotion and disuse, became cold and methodical, machine-like. The bourbon helped mask the pain, but did little to actually cure it; the memories, like snake venom, lingered within her. She found herself gripping at her hands tightly, staring at her fingernails, under which flecks of blood still remained from her kill all those nights ago.

Krazoa, she needed a bath.

Tsunami soon arrived with food, but Krystal found herself unable to eat, nor was she able to stop her tale. The words poured out, not of her own volition, and he knew that if she did stop – if she succumbed to the comfort of silence – she would never again be able to speak of it, for the fear it instilled in her was a force unlike any other she had ever faced. She had grown up fairly insulated; despite having to fight for survival in the wilds of the Western Forests and the durability such a lifestyle had rewarded her with, she had never known contact with another person during that time. It was only recently that she had placed herself in the care of another, learning to trust, learning to forgive and look beyond another's complexion. In return, her first real friend had been cut down and possibly killed, all at her expense. It was a guilt, a heartfelt shame, and a previously unknown fear that had become all too real: that she would let down both herself and those she cared about.

Inari listened quietly, but when Krystal revealed her escape and Naruto's sacrifice, the boy stormed out of the house, unhindered by his parents. The flock knew their son well; they knew where he was going, as he always did when his thoughts were troubled.

When the vixen finished speaking, an unyielding silence permeated the room.

"Kami," Tazuna began. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, pipe long forgotten. "That's… so like him, dammit. First, his village, then our own… and now look at what happens. He goes and gets himself killed. Why couldn't he have been a brooder like his old teammate, what's-his-name? At least he might have made it out alive-"

Tsunami winced. "Father, please. Now isn't the time."

Tazuna's gaze shifted from Tsunami to the blue-furred vixen, and realization – and a little guilt – crept into his eyes. "Erm… look. I didn't mean it that way. I just – he was a good kid, you know?" He finished lamely.

"I'm gonna hunt down my grandkid. We can sit down and have a little talk. Hopefully, he hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble." With a quick nod to Kisame, and an apologetic glance sent his daughter's way, the builder donned his straw hat and left the home in pursuit of his grandson, slamming the door behind him.

"Please excuse his behavior. He really doesn't have any tact." Tsunami whispered, soothing Krystal with a gentle touch. The vixen didn't realize it, but the hands in her lap were now tightly clenched around the table's edge, sharp nails tearing into the polished wood. She quickly released her hold, and released a shuddering breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"…It's fine." The vixen mumbled. She cast a heavy gaze at her bare feet, refusing to lift her eyes as the raven-haired beauty rubbed small circles about her shoulders with a firm, yet tender carress.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, and fell into the rhythm of Tsunami's warm hands on her neck – and when she opened them once more, night had once again fallen. A thick blanket was draped about her shoulders, and a pillow beneath her check as she lay slouched over in her seat.

She raised her head and felt the fog of fatigue lifting. The night was surprisingly cool; the windows were still open, and as a midnight breeze washed over her, she became acutely aware of her lack of dress. She pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders, and sat for a long moment, lost in thought. Rest and companionship had lessened the burn of grief somewhat, but did little to quell the tide of regret that had risen within her breast. Even now, she wished that she had done things differently; that she had been stronger, faster, better able to protect the man who had grown to close to her.

"I'd like to show you something." A voice began. Krystal turned to face the speaker – and was confronted with Tsunami, the woman smiling softly.

"What-" Krystal began, but the raven-haired beauty was already gone, the door closing behind her with a whisper.

Staggering to her feet, Krystal followed the dark beauty out into the moonlit expanse of the Forests of Wave. She recognized very little of the woodland – she hadn't exactly been in the most alert mental state when she had arrived - though she was intimately aware of the sense of magic in the air. A full moon hung in the night sky, embracing the stars like an old lover, guiding the vixen and raven to their destiny. To Krystal's sleep-dimmed eyes, Tsunami seemed to glide across the grass, her feet never touching the earth; it was almost ethereal, though she knew it to be a trick of the light.

They emerged from the canopy, and the blue-furred vixen felt an overwhelming sensation that could only be described as nirvana. A tingling began in her fingertips, one that race up her arms and hit her in the chest with such force, she nearly fell to her knees. This place, she knew, felt full of energy, full of life, and as she stood upon this sacred ground, she felt as if she had been burned to dust and made anew from the ashes. Adrenaline kicked through her system with every heartbeat, a torrent of ecstasy flooding her veins.

A cool breeze whipped past her, twisting spirals through her fur and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. Fireflies flitted past her, dancing on the surface of a shallow pond. In the center of the pool, a sandbar arose, and a massive sword – one she recognized from somewhere, though she couldn't place it – lay impaled into the mound of earth, a strip of white bandage tied around its hilt caressed by the fingers of the evening breeze. This was a special place, she knew, though she knew not its significance; extending her senses, she felt as though she was being watched by someone, something, beyond the mortal realm. However, that thought did not scare her; it was like the gaze of a mother bear, protectively watching her cubs.

"What is this place?" Krystal whispered, as though she were afraid of disturbing the spirits of the sacred ground.

"We call it the Heart of Wave. Very few people believe in it, or know it exists. It's… the birthplace of a fairy tale, actually." replied Tsunami. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled softly as she gazed upon the lone sword.

"A fairy tale?" inquired the blue-furred vixen, as she knelt beside the pool of water. Peering over the lip, she gazed upon her reflection, enhanced in the evening light; her eyes shone like pearls, in sharp to the dark due of her royal blue fur. Entranced by the sheer clarity of her reflection, she reached down as though to touch it.

"It goes like this: One day, the Land of Wave was ruled by a tyrant. He was a cruel, cunning man, who stole the soul of the people, tore families apart, for the sake of profit." As Tsunami began telling the tale, a dragonfly spun gaily through the night sky, before landing on the water's surface beside Krystal's finger. From the point of impact, a ripple spread, leaving the pond as smooth and unmoving as mirror. In the reflection of the moon's light, tendrils of light emerged from the water, taking shape.

She witnessed the Land of Wave, as it had been a mere twenty years prior. She watched a family of three was torn apart, mother and son forced to watch the execution of the father; she watched the spectres of children laying on the streets and camping in rat-infested alleyways, homeless and without families, living a meaningless existence, a hollow shell of a life. One of them walked right through her, and she shivered as the ghost made contact with her flesh; icy-coldness erupted from the point of contact. Her fur rose in agitation, and she gasped, hands groping at her chest in pain. The child looked at her and stared coldly, white iris and black sclera meeting shocked orbs of blue steel.

"By the Krazoa…" she whispered, utterly confounded by the strength and potency of the magic.

Magic such as this was not something one could simply create. Magic was a physical manifestation of spiritual energy, one that required both belief in one's actions, as well as the willpower to carry them out. All of these spirits, she knew, were those of real people; primal souls trapped within… within the _sword_, she sensed, choosing to manifest for her benefit.

"Years passed, and his hold grew weaker; the people refused to bow to his rule any longer. However, the size and financial power of his empire was too great. Any who opposed him openly were never heard from again…"

The crowd of ghosts swelled, congregating around her like a pack of wild dogs, smothering her, pressing her in. Tsunami's voice was lost amongst the din of death cries, of mothers screaming, children crying, fathers weeping. In one voice, they cried out for relief, for salvation from the horror of tyranny. Krystal knelt, overwhelmed with the tide of emotion pouring into her on a psychic level. She covered her ears with her hands and collapsed once more to her knees, pupils wide and unseeing, breath caught in her throat.

"Then, a boy came to the village."

The crowd of ghosts slowly dispersed, and Krystal looked up to see another ghost. However, unlike the others, this spirit lacked the terror - the weight of age, the weakness of spirit, the hopelessness – of the others. His skin, though translucent like the other spirits, glowed a rich golden color, like that of the fireflies that spun gaily through the night air moments before. The glow was so intense that the blue-furred vixen couldn't make out any of his defining features.

"He couldn't have been older than fifteen; loud, cocksure and passionate in his youth, he saw what the Land of Wave had become. In an act of courage unheard of in that day and age, he stood up against the Tyrant; not because of personal gain, but because he saw something wrong in the world, saw an innocent people being harmed... and worse, saw nothing being done. He believed it was his duty to change the status quo. "

The golden spirit walked through the crowd of terrified specters, which parted before him like frightened animals before a wildfire. However, one spirit remained in his path: a young boy with dark, untamable hair and a hold in his chest. Reaching out with one hand, the golden boy touched the younger spirit on his shoulder.

The younger spirit was suddenly alight with spiritual fire, and where once he had been as pale as the mountain mists, he now glowed with the sun's fury. He, in turn, touched another, and another – and soon, the crowd of trapped spirits became something _more_, something _greater_. Like a whisper in a dark room, the echoes of the boys touch danced through the crowd; the hope of the people had been restored, and with hope came spirit.

"However, he Tyrant had an enforcer; a bloodthirsty killer, known to all of wave as a Demon of the Hidden Mists. This man was a swordsman of legend."

Another shadow rose from the pool, red as the Blood Moon, formless as a whisper of the wind. It stared at the golden boy with blackened pits – there were no eyes. He drew the behemoth of a sword from the sandbar, tendrils of the abyss seeping down the blade from his bare hands, reforging it in darkness. It held the blade high, and the stars themselves seemed to wink out before his awesome might.

"He sent the demon after the boy. There was to be no mercy, no quarter given."

With a mighty roar, the bloodthirsty creature swung the blade down, the tip of cold steel rending the heavens in two. Snarling, the golden boy rose to meet it. As their blades clashed, Krystal winced in discomfort, a sharp pang of psychic energy throbbing through her mind. Reacting quickly, the vixen erected a shield around her mind, protecting it against any further backlash from the violent display.

Clearly, this act of magic wasn't meant to harm. If it was designed to inflict pain, it would do so with much more efficiency; a lot of power had gone into the glamour, and it had obviously been crafted by a person or persons with a high degree of skill. Why, then? What was so significant about this event that it was _imprinted _on the sword?

The behemoth of a blade sang an ugly note as it collided with the young boy's knife. The two spirits circled each other, as though seeking an opening. What followed could only be described as a flurry of subterfuge. Feint after feint, elegant counter-parries, the swift dance of the golden knife barely holding the butcher's blade at bay. Every time their blades made contact, lights flared, the contrast of scarlet and sunlight forcing Krystal to look away; the air hummed with power, the morning dew seeming to crackle with electricity discharged with each stroke.

Suddenly, the demon moved with a speed like none other, as though he were riding sanguine light that discharged from his wicked blade. In half a hare's breath, the blonde was disarmed, knife held calmly in the demon's hands. As it chuckled, the sound of crunching gravel, Krystal found herself holding her breath, heart racing with fear for the boy.

Rather than cower before his demise, the boy something completely unexpected; he grinned widely, bowing at the waist in recognition of his better. His lips moved, though no words escaped them.

The demon paused, sword held tightly above his head, at the peak of an impending fatal strike. Then, impossibly, it lowered the sword, and saluted its opponent, a sign of a warrior's respect.

"The two fought, and though the boy was completely outmatched, he persevered. You see, the boy, in his innocence, could see what others could not: that the demon had a soul, and was just as mortal as any other man. That the demon had feelings, desires, emotional ties to those around him. And while he had chosen a dark path, he was not above redemption. All he needed to change was forgiveness and respect."

The shadows of the demon's skin faded quickly, and a figure appeared from within them. A ghostly knight, wearing bloodstained armor wrought of shadow, golden eyes aglow with the heat of combat.

"Though he could not change his nature – the desire for combat and respect, his bitterness at the hands of betrayal, his desire for retribution and disregard for the weak, the shadows that comprised his soul – the demon had learned to still those desires, to use them to his advantage. The demon learned forgiveness, mercy, and justice, all from the boy."

The knight raised his sword into the air once more, and issued a wordless cry. The villager spirits, each of them stone-faced and determined, stepped forward. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light, causing the vixen to close her eyes tightly; when she opened them, fireflies had appeared where the villagers once stood. They swooped towards the knight and melded into his sword, causing the blade to glow with barely contained power. The former demon, his hands burning against the hot steel, struggled to hold the sword aloft.

"The Demon turned on his former master, slaying the Tyrant with the help of the villagers. It was a miracle; the people had found the strength they needed to persevere, to start again."

The knight swung his sword into the earth, which exploded in a flash of light. This time, Krystal forced herself to keep her eyes open. The spirits disintegrated into stardust, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared, filling the skies. The illusion had shattered, the spirits quieting with the last flare of light; however, one spirit remained. The demon – no, the knight - stood proudly in the moonlight, the steel of his thick pauldrons glinting in the starlight. His blade had shattered into brittle golden pieces, its steel softened under the intense heat and pressure of his strength.

"What happened to the demon?" Krystal asked, though she soon received her answer.

The knight looked over his shoulder, piercing eyes locked upon her own. Suddenly, those lights winked out, as though its very soul had died. Before her eyes, his armor slowly chipped away, its edges being caked with rust and old blood. The sheen of his armor dulled with age, and he collapsed to his knees. Sword after sword impaled themselves through his back, and blood bubbled between his lips and through the gaps in his helmet, yet he did not cry out. He turned to the vixen, considered her silently, and then, taking up the broken sword, shoved it through his own chest. In a bone-rattling burst of wind and light, arms spread wide to the heavens, the knight disappeared.

Krystal found herself panting, a cold sweat on her neck. She wiped an errant hand across her forehead, gasping in exhilaration and psychic overload. Her shields had collapsed along with the illusion, and the strain on her mind had lifted. With a sigh of relief, she put a hand to the earth and began whispering to herself. She struggled to remind herself that it had all been just a vision, that the battle hadn't actually just occurred before her.

The sword was still planted in the earth, and the wilderness surrounding them was quiet, serene. The sun had just begun to rise, and the early morning sun painted the skyline with gentle hues of orange and purple. Her breath fogged before her, the chill of the ocean air biting into her fur; she wrapped Kisame's coat around her more tightly, leeching the warmth and comfort of the soft wool.

Silence reigned for some time. Krystal looked upon the sunrise thoughtfully, the emotional flow tapering off to a close.

"…This is his sword, which stands as a reminder of those days." Tsunami whispered, giving a respectful nod in the direction of the blade. She turned and began walking back to the cabin, the tails of her robe fluttering gracefully in the morning breeze.

"Wait. What was the point of all this? Why tell me about the boy and his story?" Krystal called, tearing her gaze from the sunrise. She locked eyes with Tsunami, who merely smiled, her empty expression unsettling the blue-furred vixen.

She had never seen eyes that looked so far-away. It was… eerie. No expression that devoid of emotion belonged on a living thing.

"Dear, the meaning of what I'm telling you is for you to discern. Otherwise, anything I say will be meaningless. It doesn't matter what I believe; what matters is what you believe… though, between you and me, I think that the tale speaks for the value of forgiveness and second chances." Tsunami replied. Her visage glowed brightly in the evening starlight, and her pale eyes glistened with knowledge far beyond her years.

"There is a reason this place is called the Heart of Wave, and there is a reason why the sword is planted here, and not sitting in a museum or armory. The story is about the boy, but not entirely; it concerns the Demon just as much. Twenty years of hatred, twenty years of conflict and strife… absolved in the blink of an eye, through the actions of a man who by all rights should have slaughtered the village without a second thought. He did not wish for the forgiveness, or for the aid that he received, nor are they the greatest things he had achieved that day. He had to learn to forgive himself, something infinitely harder and much more personal. Had he not done this, the Land of Wave would not be the safe haven it is today."

Krystal considered the seer's words, staring at her own reflection in the pool. What she saw, however, sickened her.

"It… it was my fault." The blue-furred vixen replied sullenly, gazing upon her reflection in the disturbed waters of the pond. "I wasn't strong enough to support him, and he incurred my debts. I tried to save him, and I did, only for him to be killed months later because of my stupidity. He's probably dead or worse, and I can't change that now."

"No, that you can't. But that doesn't mean you can't change your actions from this point forward." Tsunami replied. "As the demon became a knight, defeating the evil that had spawned him, so too must you conquer your fear and take action."

"I am no knight, nor can I become one. I've taken a life. Blood – endless blood – stains my hands now. I know that life and death is nature's way, but even then, nature can be cruel. The burden of a life lost taints me. It haunts me while I sleep, and interferes with my every waking thought…" Empty steel eyes stared into the starlit sky, lost in thought.

"I am no knight," she uttered, with a sense of finality.

"Killing is never easy," replied Tsunami. "That is how it should be. However, you are mistaken about the 'burden of life', as you put it. Do not carry the mantle of those you have slain. To do so is to lose your identity, your purpose." She held up an arm, and an owl – swift and silent as the breeze, with feathers the color of sea foam – landed upon it softly. She gently stroked the plume of feathers along its neck, and it crooned into her touch.

"Killing is necessary; in order for some to survive, others must perish. Think of the owl. It must hunt, even kill, in order to sustain itself. What you did – killing one who threatened the lives of you and your companion – was not morally correct, but then again, neither was it immoral. To save, you destroyed. In the end, the action you took is neither good, nor evil; it simply is. What you make of it is up to you. But to choose to give way to the weight of your conscience, to lock yourself away in guilt is to do harm, both to yourself and to your loved ones. That, and only that, is an unforgivable sin."

Tsunami eyed the vixen cooly, and the owl screeched, taking flight in a moment of sudden panic. Krystal eyed the retreating bird for as long as she could; however, its visage was quickly lost amongst the trees.

"Even if I do 'conquer my fear' and 'take action', as you put it – and by the way, I have no idea what action I'd take," Krystal retorted, "nothing changes, because – again – Naruto is dead." Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and she held her head tightly between her knees. Krazoa, she was so tired, so vulnerable. She felt as though even gentle breeze could knock her over, and shatter her resolve as the smallest pebble shatters a glass windowpane.

"He's not dead." Tsunami said, with a finality that confounded the teary-eyed vixen. The raven-haired seer gazed into the distance, in the direction of the Hidden Leaf Village.

"W-what?" The vixen asked, confusion, surprise, and suspicion overriding her better judgment. Under the stress of her recovery, the loss of her… friend, and the emotional duress caused by the vision, she could barely distinguish friend from foe anymore. Angrily, she surged to her feet, claws extending from each finger. She growled, lips pulled back in a tight snarl, and gripped a stoic Tsunami by the collar of her dress, lifting the woman above her head.

"If you're fucking with me," Krystal stated, "I will end you." It was not a boast, nor a threat, but a solemn promise.

"I would not be so sure," Tsunami replied, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice. "And it would be in your best interests to release me, if you want to see your… friend… again. Events have been set in motion, events that can never be undone; it is only by answering a question can you ensure his survival. How you answer it determines his fate." She slapped the vixen's hands away and landed softly on her feet, refusing to break eye contact with her assailant.

"Tell me," the vixen cried, her voice tense with controlled frustration. The sudden anger had infused her with a strength unlike any other; righteous fury had sparked and inferno that roared inside of her soul, the intense heat forging her into a peerless force of nature, a volcano ready to unleash hell upon those who dared to trespass on her domain.

She was beyond caring. She had spent far too long crying in the shadows, far too long being weak. She'd cost the blonde hero everything. She'd cost herself everything. By the Krazoa, she would make amends. Nothing else would satisfy her, nothing else would quench the guilt and rage that fueled the inferno burning away in her chest.

"Are you willing to pay the greatest sacrifice in order to ensure that he – and the world we live in - survive the coming conflict?"

In response, the vixen reached out a hand into the darkness of the night. For a long moment, all was still; suddenly, with a rush of air, the bloodstained sheath of the nodachi from nights before appeared in her hand. She drew the blade with a sharp hiss of steel, and considered its honed edge with an inquiring gaze. Then, she eyed the seer, the fire in her eyes microscopic compared to the firestorm erupting in her heart.

"We leave." Krystal intoned, the finality in her voice unyielding, as still and cold as a glacier.

She set her hand in Tsunami's, and in a flash of light, the forest clearing – the Heart of Wave – was empty.


	20. Cage

"…Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Silence was his answer, and it pleased him greatly.

The scarecrow grinned, his teeth all too pale in the dim lighting of the Black Ops prison. It was a cold smile, colder than the iron bars that composed the blonde's cell. He hung like a spider in the entrance to the blonde's cell, uninvited and consumed by a bestial hunger, one that could never be sated.

In one hand, he tenderly held a scroll, as though it were a suckling babe. Thick satin parchment, trimmed with gold and red silk: it had to be a missive from the Council. Presumably, the colorful symbol of diplomacy carried his death sentence. It was an irony that did not pass unnoticed by the blonde. Naruto's gaze shifted, tracing cracks in the concrete floor.

"…You are aware of your impending fate, then?" The scarecrow inquired.

"No, but I suppose that you're going to tell me." His former student replied, his eyes not having left the broken concrete. His voice, though cool and composed, was cracked slightly. He had been trapped in this cell for a little over fo day now, and the lack of food, water, and sleep was beginning to affect his composure.

His thick blonde was caked with a slimy layer of grime, the greasy sort that clumped together in unsightly patches. With bloody holes in his clothing, he knew that even if he wasn't dead yet, he certainly looked the part. The past few days hadn't been kind to him. He had scarcely slept; he'd also lost track of time, to his utter frustration.

"You will executed at sunrise," mused the insane Jounin, "and when you die – for the final time – a service will be held in the memory of the loyal soldiers you have slain. Konoha will erect a statue dedicated to the victims of your rampage, both old and new."

"And you will have your petty vengeance, " Naruto interjected. He stood and pressed himself against the cage bars, his muzzle inches away from that of his teacher, "through killing – and torturing – two students, two comrades."

The two locked eyes; an impromptu battle of wills had begun, a collision of two titans. Naruto narrowed his eyes in challenge, while his teacher met his gaze impassively.

With a sudden, sinking feeling, the blonde knew he had suddenly crossed a line. Kakashi erupted into a firestorm of rage; faster than the blonde could blink, the scarecrow had reached through the bars and gripped his steel collar tightly. The blond halfheartedly pawed at the scarecrow's vest, but he found himself unable to break free of the enraged man's iron grip; the chains restricted his movement, limited his strength.

"I will have _justice_." Kakashi roared, eyes ablaze. "I will rip out the heart of the demon spawn that threatened the safety of my village. That killed soldiers acting in the line of duty. That took my _father_-"

Naruto's head slammed roughly into the cage bars. His vision was pitch, then a river of blood; his head swam and a ringing echoed distantly in his ears. But he didn't notice any of that. It was through a grinning maw that his blood ran red; he had broken the devil's mask, rattled the creature that poised as man, and lived as a demon.

Desperately, he reached out – and grasped his former teacher's shirt, staining the armor with half-dried blood. Angrily, Kakashi lashed out, breaking Naruto's forearm with a sickening crack. The blonde captive grunted in surprise and agony, feeling as though a thousand needles had been been broken beneath his skin.

"-I will enjoy watching you _burn_." Kakashi barked. With a rough shove, the scarecrow threw the blonde into the depths of his barren cell. Again, the blonde impacted concrete, so hard that dust was thrown into the air, and the single light above his head flickered, swaying back and forth.

All was quiet. The scarecrow looked down at his quarry, his eyes alight with a tempered fury. His knuckles were clenched tightly, so much that they appeared as white as forge-fire. His breath came in quick, ragged gasps; his pupils dilated at the sight of his student's blood, and his fingers were inching towards the knife concealed at his belt.

The blonde shuffled into a seated position, eyes downcast, his hard gaze concealed by the dancing glare of the single bulb overhead. It swung back and forth slowly, illuminating the blond warrior's broken form. His eyes were shaded by his heavy brow, and one was kept shut by the trickle of blood oozing from a cut on his forehead.

But though he could not see his student's eyes, the scarecrow felt a burning in the hollow of his chest. He took a step back – some unknown force, some bestial impulse gnawed at his belly, silently pushing him away, away from this dreaded place. And for a moment, Kakashi stood not before his student, but before his father; it was in the way he talked, the patience and confidence of a man who stared into the abyss with not fear, but expectation.

"We all must face our fates. When I face mine, I'll be mourned by my comrades. Can you say the same?" Naruto intoned. He looked up at the face of his teacher, slightly pale, his mouth a hard line of determination. Defiant in the face of agony, the blond reared back and spit blood upon his teacher's feet.

Aburptly, Kakashi turned on his feet. The scarecrow's agitated footsteps disappeared down the hollow prison corridor.

Time passed in milk and honey; it flowed through his fingers, passing unnoticed. Between the burning in his arm and the numbness in his head, the blonde barely had an awareness of his surroundings. He felt like he was… disconnected. Like he an outsider, looking at life through another's eyes. He heard himself grunt and shift into a more comfortable position.

Dimly, he realized he was concussed – _what was that about concussions? Right… Shouldn't sleep._ Suddenly, the pain in his arm roared back to life, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Sleep's tender grasp was brushed aside, and he found himself alert once more. Bitterly, he chuckled; he supposed he should be thanking his former teacher for the tender mercy.

There was a scraping sound in the distance, he realized. Like a bird, pecking at his windowsill. He knew the sound was important, but for his life, he couldn't sort out his thoughts.

"Naruto." A cracked voice dared to whisper, "you okay?"

A ragged chuckle escaped from the blonde's lips. Numb fingers, tightly clenched, gave way; a bloodstained key fell into the blonde's lap.

"Never better." The blonde replied.

* * *

The cry of a barn owl rattled in her ears, and then she was flying.

She was the owl, but not entirely. No owl could fly with as great a speed as she soared through the heavens, crossing miles of tree-blanketed landscape in the passing of a heartbeat.

The wind cut deep trenches through her untamed mane, and her hair whipped about her head like an angered serpent, making sight difficult. Wait – her hair? Owls didn't have hair. _What in the nine hells is going on?_

She was not alone, that much she knew. She was acutely aware of a second presence hovering nearby, like a butterfly flitting about at the edge of her vision: Tsunami, she assumed, who had pulled her along on this journey. And, dimly, she felt a third – probably the owl, a honed beacon of instinct, thoughtlessly cutting through the night sky.

"Where are we going?" the vixen cried; her voice, however, was lost to the frigid winds. She shuddered as a tendril of cold cut through her feathers like a steel blade. _This is so confusing…_ Her question was met with no answer, save the howling of the midnight wind.

The owl's senses were interfering with her own. She wasn't really flying; the owl was, and her soul was a passenger, along for the ride. But because she _expected_ the wind to cut through her hair, and because she felt the racing of the owl's heart, the icy wind cutting through its feathers – she, too, felt the same thing.

The mind can be a very confusing thing.

"Patience," A voice boomed in her head. She flinched at the sudden intrusion, reflexively bringing a hand up to her temple. This seer was really beginning to annoy her. The mindscape was a sacred place, one to be left untouched by others. If allowed into another's mind, one was to always act with courtesy, treading carefully. Such was Cerinian tradition.

Apparently, this particular seer was unaware of Cerinian custom – or she simply didn't care. As Tsunami's voice echoed in her head once more, bringing with it a spike of pain, Krystal assumed it was the second.

"Channeling is an art, not a science. Acts of God take time." The voice continued. Krystal grimaced at the response. _Seers and their bloody mysticism_.

"Acts of God?" Krystal cried in frustration. Another gust of wind nipped at her fur. She weaved between trees faster than her eyes could track, narrowly missing several branches. Her heart was racing wildly, and she half-expected to die at any second. She attempted to throw out her arms – only to realize that she _had_ no arms. Or any control over her own motion, for that matter.

It was a strange experience, to say the last.

"You are the owl, and the owl is you. Just as I am." Was the seer's cryptic reply. The voice was calm and serene, but the blue-furred vixen could detect a hint of mirth beneath the cool response.

"What are you on about?" Krystal replied.

"A secret. One of much importance. But such isn't meant for your ears… not yet, anyway. Now, cease your shouting and calm yourself. We're almost there."

Krystal lurched downwards, suddenly splaying her wings. Her talons reached out and snared a lonesome maple branch. Just like that, the journey was completed; finally, the vixen had a chance to gather her wits. She took in a deep breath – _pointless, she hadn't flown that distance, the owl had _– and steadied her mind.

The howling of winter's winds grew silent, and in that blessed silence she took a momentary reprieve. Perched upon this branch, she could see the sun slowly rising in the morning's early hours. Saffron, orange, and purple blended together into a melodic haze that slowly penetrated the horizon.

"Where are we?" Krystal inquired, her voice much softer. Snow had begun to fall lightly – it was a little early for this time of year, rather unusually so, but she thought very little of it. White powder blanketed the treetops, but that did little to still the wildlife. Through the owl's beady eyes, she saw dozens of little creatures – squirrels, mice, and even a snake – going about their daily business. It was… rather exciting, she mused, or perhaps that was the owl's instinct to hunt influencing her. Either way, the owl remained in its perch, compelled by some unknown force.

"Where we need to be." Tsunami's voice intoned. Again, Krystal felt the seer's mirth. She gave the mental equivalent of a sigh.

"And that is?" She asked, her voice dripping with annoyance.

"…Patience."

* * *

At the sound of his teammate's voice, awareness came lurching back. His body functioned on autopilot – he had to… do something. Take action. Their lives were in danger, and sitting around would not help.

Fighting back the nausea, the blonde struggled to his knees. Grimacing, he searched the cell for anything that could be used as a weapon. A torn leather strip lay on the floor – too short for a noose, just long enough for a makeshift splint. Deftly, his fingers wound the leather thong around his broken limb, and cinched the strip with his teeth.

This task completed, he used his good hand to scratch at the concrete, conveying a silent message to his brother-in-arms.

"…_Get ready_. _Exit._"

He staggered to his feet, and grimaced as nausea threatened to send him to the floor. He steadied himself against the wall, using his shackles for support; then, with fumbling with his good hand, he slowly undid the restraints that held him fast. As the last chain clacked to the floor, he attempted to open the energy-suppressing collar, but found that he wasn't able to reach the keyhole; it was located directly behind his neck, and with his arm broken, he didn't have the range of motion to reach it.

He grimaced. He'd have to do without.

Staggering forward, he leaned heavily against the bars, and felt the urge to vomit.

_Might as well get it out of the way, _he mused. He leaned through the bars and let loose, leaving his captors a nice 'parting gift' to clean up. As he finished, he chuckled silently, and wiped his mouth clean with the back of a dirty sleeve.

The key in his hand fit the lock perfectly, and with a loud click, the door was suddenly unlocked. The blonde froze at the sound, glancing left and right. After a few minutes, and satisfied that he was in nod anger, he stealthily moved forward.

He pushed open the cell door, and staggered down the hall towards his comrade's cell. He couldn't be sure which one it was – there was no telling who else was imprisoned here, and he was dazed at the time of his entrance – but he didn't think that would be a problem. Two cells down, he saw a clawed hand reaching through the bars, flashing the Black Ops hand signal for 'Hound.'

He reached the cell, and thrust the bloodstained key into the lock.

_It didn't fit._

He cursed underneath his breath. Trust ROOT to avoid using a master key. Though the bars, he could see Kiba's eyes creased in desperation. His clawed hands gripped the bars tightly, his scarred knuckles caked with blood and grime.

"…Leave me." The hound whispered, his gaze hollow, his voice ragged. "Go."

The blonde shook his head furiously. "There's got to be a way. You're getting out of there." He ran his good hand over the rusted iron, looking for any obvious weakness in the metal. Finding none, he searched the surrounding area for anything that could be used as a lockpick – a bobby pin, a piece of wire – but stopped himself. Of course there wouldn't be such a device lying around. This was a high-security prison, after all.

Perhaps there was another guard nearby, a set of keys that he could _acquire_–

"Looking for something?" A familiar voice inquired politely. At the sound, the blonde felt his hopes vanish, and his stomach drop. He turned his head, and opened his mouth to speak.

He saw stars as a metal-plated fist impacted his cheek. He spat blood and collapsed against the cell bars. Distantly, he heard Kiba calling his name, but his senses were overwhelmed as blow after blow rained painfully down upon him, like so many drops of molten steel. A dull ringing pounded away at his ears, beating with the passing of the seconds. A staggering pain lanced through his side – _must have cracked a rib,_ he thought – and he slid down to the floor, only to be held aloft by a hand upon his throat.

The scarecrow had returned, and looked upon his student coldly… _with a demonic eye_.

"Nice job, swiping the key from my chest pocket," Kakashi drawled. His voice was languid and sickly sweet, like molasses, "You would have succeeded in escaping, if you hadn't forgotten just… one… thing…"

His pauses were punctuated with blows to Naruto's unprotected belly.

"I taught you everything you know. I let you take that key. Stealing from a prison guard, aiding another prisoner's escape - I now have an excuse to kill you right here. Damn the council." Kakashi grinned wickedly, his teeth as sharp as knives. _"Tsukiyomi."_

At the sound of his former teacher's words, the blonde closed his eyes, but it was far too late. The scarecrow's evil eye pulsed once with chakra, and Naruto was falling, falling, falling…

All at once, the visions that had been planted in his subconscious mind, like seeds, began to sprout, taking root in the present; _he could feel the cold caress of mist, see the torch-flames of the humans as they bore down upon the Cerinian village._

He knew where these visions were heading. He'd been there before – back when Krystal had hit him with her Empathy Burst. _He could hear children wailing softly in the distance, and the stench of decay made him swoon._

That was the terror of the scarecrow's nightmare technique – forcing the victim to relive their worst memories, their greatest fears, until they broke. He felt despair rising up within his chest. It was all consuming, a fear of something worse than death; for if he failed – if he were to die here, at the hands of this tyrant – much worse was sure to happen. To what few people he called friends. To Kiba, his closest ally. To Krystal, his savior, friend, and…

It was then that he felt the rage.

Something _evil_ stirred within him. It was as though he had lost himself; beneath the filmy veil that embraced his eyes, he felt nothing but a cold, detached apathy, numbing his soul like an arctic wind.

Kakashi, in his pride, had chosen to stare into the abyss… and suddenly, the abyss was staring back. Eyes opened, sapphire blue no longer; in their place was a sickly orange-red, a bottomless inferno that promised unmatched pain.

Demonic energy surged from within the depths of his very being and overwhelmed the seals that had been carved into his collar; the steel warped, the writing distorted, and suddenly, he was free. Naruto's broken arm reached up and clasped the hand wrapped around his throat; the leather thong snapped, and it fell heavily upon the stone. Using his newfound unholy strength, Naruto wrenched his teacher's arm from its socket and tossed the man headfirst into the opposing cell, shattering the man's nose against the bars.

Kakashi staggered away from the wall, blood pouring from face. He was dazed and confused, overwhelmed by the sudden ferocity displayed by his student. Using his good arm, he instinctively reached into his pocket for a knife – only to find his hands empty.

**"Looking for something?"** The blond mocked, twirling a familiar, serrated blade between two fingers. Angered, Kakashi lunged forward with a strong cross, only for his blow to be parried at the last second by an impossibly fast wrist-grab from the blonde.

**"Too slow…"** Naruto whispered into his teacher's ear. Brandishing the knife in a reverse grip, the blonde struck, forcing the scarecrow to the floor with a tight arm-bar, a knife lodged in his shoulder. With a sharp tug, he dislocated Kakashi's other arm, leaving his teacher howling in agony, both limbs hanging limply by his sides. The scarecrow was vulnerable… weak. And in that moment, the hero-turned-beast knew that victory was secured; he filled with a gnawing hunger to see the man before him bleed, a hunger that steadied his blade against his prey's throat. He wanted the man _dead – but no, not a quick death. No…_

Kakashi crawled away from his possessed student, until his back pressed up against solid concrete. He pawed at the dirt with his feet, arms limp by his sides. The blonde crouched over his teacher's fallen form, a razor's edge at the man's throat.

He was tempted to finish the job. Mere inches separated steel and blood; an ounce of pressure would be enough to finish the job. And with the kill would come a euphoric high, the satisfaction that only righteous killing could bring about.

"Do it, demon!" Kakashi growled, as he bared his throat against his own knife, drawing blood. His eyes were wild with rage and fear, his breath coming in quick gasps. When he spoke, it sounded more like a growl than the music of a human tongue.

"Thanks to your outburst, you gave yourself away. All that energy you released? Others are on their way, and in force… and if you take the time to finish me off – and you'll find that I can be quite resilient – you'll be killed. I'll still win." He laughed manically, bloodstained teeth flashing white and red in the dim light. His laughter was interrupted by ragged coughing, but he continued unabated.

"So? What are you waiting for? Sate your hunger! Sate your rage! Glut yourself on my blood! It'll be the last thing you ever do."

Two demons made eye contact once more.

Naruto's hand twitched upon the dagger – and he struck the scarecrow's temple with the hilt, knocking the insane murderer unconscious. He deftly sheathed the wicked blade at his waist, slipping it into the folds of his desiccated uniform. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut; when they opened, sapphire pupils glowed softly in the dimly lit corridor.

Vengeance would be sweet, and it was a long time coming. But there were other, more important things on his mind – the life of his comrade chief among them. Kiba was the rock that held him fast in crashing waters; it was now his turn to bear the storm's weight.

He returned to the body of his sensei once again, rummaging through the pockets expectantly. His efforts bore fruit; between his fingers lay a pouch, which contained a bronze key, a flask – East Wind Sake, by the smell of it - and a small packet of soldier pills.

He calmly approached Kiba's cell, and tried the second key; again, his efforts failed. They key wouldn't even enter the lock, let alone turn. Snarling in anger, the blonde channeled what little energy he had into the palm of his hand and struck the cell door, shattering the lock that held it fast.

"Are you strong enough to walk?" Naruto inquired, grimacing as the adrenaline – and the last of his energy – left his body. Suddenly, the weight of his actions became apparent. The shaking in his knees intensified, and he collapsed forward in exhaustion. His broken arm exploded into agony from its use, but he was unable to utter a sound; such actions required energy he didn't have to spare.

"…Yeah," Kiba stated. His voice was scratchy from disuse. "You sure you should be asking me that?" He laughed humorlessly, and then stood slowly, his damaged muscles shaking, as though burdened by the weight of an entire world.

"...Soldier pill?" Inquired Naruto, his breathing labored. "I can't hold anything down right now…"

"Toss them over." Kiba replied. "Can't reach you… damned shackles." He nodded his head at the chains binding his wrists, neck, and feet.

The blonde grabbed the pouch between clumsy fingers and tossed it to his imprisoned companion, swooning with the effort.

Kiba clutched it tightly in his shaking hands, bringing it before the light – and in that moment, his hope, and his strength, had been restored. He hastily downed the bitter pellet, and gasped as a fire was lit in his belly. Not even pausing to breathe, he stuffed his hand back into the sack, withdrawing a handful of soldier pills and eating as many as he could stomach.

It was as though lightning coursed along his spine, and he stood straighter, muscles tensing, controlled insanity in his steps. His pupils dilated, and he broke out into a cold sweat.

Taking a deep breath, Kiba flexed – and with a primal roar, shattered the flimsy chains that bound him. Metal pieces clattered across the floor, echoing in the dimly lit chamber.

"…Show off. You sure you'll be able to - handle the crash?" The blonde asked, pausing only to breathe. Kiba rolled his shoulders.

"We'll see what happens." Kiba shrugged noncommittally, and positioned himself underneath Naruto, supporting the weight of his wounded comrade.

Together, they left the cell, Hound and Fox reunited once more. Naruto, barely aware of his surroundings, trudged forward, one foot in front of the other. Kiba, ever vigilant, supported his broken body.

"Naruto."

"Yeah?"

"…Let's get out of here."

They walked in silence, save for their rasping breaths, trudging steps, and beating hearts.

* * *

"…Our moment has arrived." Tsunami intoned.

With a flourish, the owl exploded into motion; it feathers danced in the wind, as the owl descended upon the lightly-dusted earth. It impacted a rocky outcropping with a violent screech, and vanished into powder, which swirled about the clearing like a thick fog.

The fog drew in upon itself, and suddenly, Krystal found herself whole once more.

The blue-furred vixen found herself in the forests of Konoha once more, much to her displeasure. The trees, the smell of pine and smoke and fire – they dredged up awful memories of a time and place best left buried. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered – and not entirely from the creeping cold.

She took a moment to observe her surroundings.

She knew this place; she seldom traveled here, for it constantly smelled of men. It was to the east of the great village, an area densely wooded and nigh-impassable to all but the hardiest travelers. A stream wound through the clearing, cool and clear, iced over with the beginnings of winter.

Fangs glinted in the starlight; Krystal grimaced as a gust of bitter wind cut through her wool jacket.

In the snowlight, Tsunami looked even more like a seer; the Demon's sword rested lightly within a hand as pale as the snow itself, tip planted firmly in the snowy earth, and an owl was perched obediently on her shoulder. Clothed in a thick robe of white downy feathers, her eyes shielded by a porcelain half-mask, she held out a hand and began muttering under her breath in a language even Krystal couldn't understand.

"…There. Listen."

The vixen closed her eyes as well, and attuned herself to her surroundings. She could feel the piercing cold, and hear the howling winds in the distance, as well as the unnatural stillness of winter. And, beneath that…

Beneath her…

There was a… whumping sound. A distant pounding, like the beating of a war drum, like flesh striking against packed earth. She detected a large spike in energy, and - sure enough – the stone beneath her feet shifted. Silent as a ghost, Krystal deftly leapt away, taking refuge amongst the branches of a nearby tree.

"There is no need to run," Tsunami said, as she sat on the branch beside Krystal. The blue-furred vixen nearly had a heart attack, but remained silent. _How did she-_

"Look below." Tsunami gestured.

The snow shifted. As if through magic, a large boulder rose up above the earth, inch by inch. From her vantage point in the trees, Krystal watched in undisguised awe; that boulder must have weighed as much as five men. With a primal yell, the boulder was heaved aside, revealing a man beneath its shadow. He was rugged and haggard, unshaven, with a look of primal desperation in his eyes. Garbed in pieces of torn cloth – she'd be hard-pressed to call them rags, they were so poorly held together – he looked the part of an escape prisoner, perhaps a slave. His hair was long and untamed, hanging in dirty clumps, stained with blood and grime. Hands, large, dirty, and calloused, were clenched tightly by his sides. Built like an ox, his muscles were incredibly defined, and spoke of a lifetime of physical training, but malnutrition had left its mark. He sharply inhaled the fresh winter air, and paused for a moment, looking about the clearing suspiciously.

"…Owl… and something else." He muttered. "Nothing too suspicious yet… we've got time."

Swiftly, the muscular man scrambled to the surface, and bent over the hole, reaching inside. Krystal heard the meaty clap of hands, and with a grunt, the grizzled warrior heaved another man into view. At first, she didn't recognize him, beneath the layers of grime and blood, but the eyes – his eyes -

"Naruto…." She whispered. For a moment, she stood, transfixed at the sight of her savior, battered and broken. Then, a slave to her own instincts, she ran forward, her heart racing in fear – fear, for her friend, her companion, her pack, her -

Before she had set foot onto the forest floor, the wild man was already in action. He whirled with an inhuman grace, and his pupils dilated into pinpricks; in a single deft motion, he shattered the bolder at his side with a well-placed kick. Pivoting on his back foot, he then thrust his leg outwards once more, sending a larger chunk of rock hurtling at the desperate vixen.

Surprised by the sudden assault, she used her unnatural grace to its fullest; twisting her torso violently, she guided herself around the path of the missile, the jagged boulder missing her by mere inches.

"…So, they send a demon after us," Kiba snarled, "Assholes." He vacillated from foot to foot, loosening up worn, bruised muscles. Tsunami eyed the pair dispassionately, choosing to observe from the branches of a nearby maple, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Krystal narrowed her eyes in frustration. "Look, we don't have time for this!" She cried, pointedly eyeing the blonde. Her companion sat on the edge of the hole, one hand clutched tightly to his ribs, gasping for breath. His eyes were closed tightly, his face was pale – unnaturally so – and she could smell the blood that poured within him. "We have to get Naruto out to a healer – and that means getting out of here!"

Kiba grunted, refusing to let down his guard. "You think you can trick me so easily? Think again!" With an angry roar, he struck.

Krystal was taken aback by the sheer ferocity with which he fought. It was as though she were fighting one of her own kind… when the wild man moved, it was with unmatched prowess. He rushed forward with the speed of a panther and the ferocity of a rampaging bull, throwing a devastating clothesline that she narrowly avoided. This was followed by a concise flurry of feints, punctuated with elbow strikes and punches strong enough to tear a man's head from his shoulders. His hands were held half-open, like claws waiting to rend flesh from bone. By a hair's breadth, she escaped such a fate; she would have whispered a prayer of thanks, had she room to breathe.

Every time she attempted to recover – shuffling back into her basic stance, reaching for her sword, raising her arms to guard another blow – the beast-man struck, with the speed and power of a jaguar in hunt. She skirted around the blows, but with each step found it harder and harder to retain her composure. Looking into his eyes, she saw only fury: primal, bestial fury.

This, she realized, was his strength: whereas Naruto fought with grace and precision, like a dancer, the man before her specialized in overwhelming his opponents with pure ferocity and lethal efficiency, using his size, appearance, and honed reflexes to keep his prey – _and that is what she was _– off balance.

She'd never felt so terrified before when facing an opponent.

"Wait! Erm-" She exclaimed, as she leapt away from Kiba's fists, "I can prove it!"

The wild man stilled suddenly, freezing mid-strike. His mind raced, filled with desperation and a fleeting hope. So far, the blue-furred vixen had yet to strike back. Burdened by the haze of combat, he snorted in contempt, and slowly straightened, crossing his massive arms over his corded chest. He exhaled slowly, hot air misting into the next sky.

"You have ten seconds," he began, "And if I find out you're lying –"

His neck cracked with a loud pop, one that Krystal felt her heart skip a beat. She swallowed thickly, trying desperately to still the fearful twitching of her tail. Knowing she needed to end the fight before things got out of hand, she wracked her brain desperately for information. Something – anything – that she could say or do to deter her fearsome opponent, before she was forced to use lethal force and they both ended up dead.

She ran an errant hand through her hair, frustration clouding her features. _What can I possibly show him that will prove my allegiance? I could show him the sword, but it might look like I was the one who wielded it… I don't think he'd consent to a mind link…_

She put a hand on her hip – and felt an unexpected bulge in the pocket of the flannel jacket, one that she hadn't felt earlier. Caught up in the excitement as she was, it was a small thing, easily overlooked. Maintaining eye contact with the wild man, she reached within the fabric, and her fingers were kissed by cool metal, wrapped in thin cloth. She fumbled with the object briefly – her claws caught on the jacket, nearly tearing a hole straight through the wool fabric – but succeeded in retrieving it.

She eyed it in surprise, and then swallowed heavily. It was a headband, similar to the one Naruto had worn the night she had recovered his body. This one, however, was engraved with a different design: three waves, stacked vertically, that seemed to ebb and flow in the moonlight. A horizontal line was cut across the width of the steel plate.

Looking to the bandana, the wild man's hazel eyes widened in recognition, and his posture relaxed slightly.

"…I know that design." Kiba muttered. "The mission to Wave, and the Seven Swordsmen. Naruto used to tell stories…" The beast-man shook his head, clearing his mind of distractions.

"My name is Kiba." He stated, his voice booming in the still night. Almost stark naked in the freezing snow, he gave no indications of feeling the cold. He stood, tall and proud, in the moonlight, a testament to the strength of his forefathers. "And you are?"

"...Krystal." The vixen replied, with a small amount of hesitation.

"Right. If you're really here to help us - lend me a hand." He stated, his tone firm and unyielding. He spoke as an alpha, one who was used to respect and obedience; one who had earned said respect through endless rites of passage, born of fire and ancient tradition. Returning to the injured blonde, the wild man lifted the wheezing man onto his back effortlessly – and with a certain tenderness, noted Krystal, for one so strong.

She was confused; more than that, however, she was relieved. Perhaps luck was finally on her side.

Wait. _Not luck…_

As Kiba set her lover down in the center of the clearing, a thought occurred to her, one that left her unsettled – yet did not surprise her. _The headband…_

She blinked, then turned her gaze to the treetops, speaking in a quiet monotone.

"That band wasn't in my jacket pocket before. Strange, don't you think? It's almost as if someone _put it there_…"

Tsunami cocked her head to the side curiously, returning the vixen's gaze coolly. Her silence was answer enough.

"…I've said it once, I'll say it a hundred times. _Seers."_ She grit her teeth, fangs bared menacingly. She brushed Kiba aside and put a tender hand on her packmate's chest, feeling his feather-light pulse. Her lips pursed with worry and suspicion. This wasn't the first time she wished she was well-versed in the healing arts, but that desire became all the greater after seeing the blonde as injured as he was. He looked like he'd gone nine rounds with a mountain lion.

"…Why isn't he healing?" Krystal asked, the words leaving her tongue sharp and venomous. It was more of an accusation than a question, really.

"Don't know." Kiba grunted, before casting a steely glare at the vixen. "If you've got something to say, say it."

The vixen scowled, brushing past Kiba, her swift gait carrying her to Naruto's side in moments. She sighed in frustration, and removed her coat – silently lamenting the loss of its warmth – laying it over Naruto's broken body like a blanket. The half-conscious warrior's eyes fluttered briefly, but he remained silent and unmoving.

She paused, looking down at her mangled savior. Her eyes were thick with emotion, but she said nothing, taking the moment to tenderly stroke the blonde's cheek with a gentle hand. She wiped away a speck of dried blood from the corner of his lips.

Kiba's expression softened at the sight, but his voice remained firm and unyielding.

"We need to leave. Now." Kiba commanded. He looked at Tsunami for a moment, frowning. "…You do have a way out of here, right?"

"I need a moment to prepare for our departure. Although, in the meantime, you might want to hold this." With unnatural strength for her size, she hefted the blade with a single hand; a flick of her wrist sent the massive iron sword whirling through the air, only to impale itself at the feet of the hound. Eyeing the massive blade with trepidation, he hefted it from the earth and braced it tightly across his large shoulders.

Kiba looked up at the seer questioningly. "What would I need this for?"

As if in answer, Krystal's ears twitched, and she stood, crouching protectively over the body of her lover. Kiba inhaled deeply – and a new scent, one far less pleasant, invaded his senses.

"Poison. Steel. Old blood." He muttered. He drummed his fingers against the hilt of the sword, lost in thought. "It's-"

His words were cut off by a loud rustling from a nearby bush. Immediately, a hail of knives burst forth, carving a deadly path through the frigid night air. Acting entirely on instinct, Kiba wielded the greatsword like an oversized club, batting the storm of blades aside. He whirled about, and – dropping to one knee – narrowly parried an overhand strike from a shadowy figure. With a grunt, Kiba stood, whipping the blade across the exposed back of his assailant.

The shadowy figure burst into smoke, revealing a bisected log in its place.

"Substitution…" Kiba cursed. His blood raced furiously, and his ears thrummed with the ringing of steel; in his mind's eye, he was a wolf, howling at the moon.

Whipping his head about, he blinked in surprise. Where there was once one Krystal, several had appeared, each dancing about the clearing in the throes of combat. An illusion – it had to be – but even his enhanced senses were being fooled. Visibly, they all appeared the same; they moved with the same, inhuman grace. Each was clothed in an oversized wool coat and little else, brandishing a wicked-looking, weather-beaten kodachi. Each left footprints in the snow, and in the moon's cool light cast shadow upon the packed earth. They even _smelled_ the same.

"_Come out, come out_…" The blue-furred clones whispered, their voices echoing around the clearing, the winter stillness punctuated by their eerie giggling. Though Kiba knew it was an illusion – that didn't make the sight unnerving. Not that he was scared. He was beyond fear, ensnared as he was in the passion of battle.

Suddenly, the clearing exploded into action. A gout of fire raced from the tree-line, catching one of Krystal's illusions. The not-Krystal erupted into a fireball, but continued laughing wickedly, even as it was consumed by the flames, nothing more than a walking husk of burnt fur and flesh. The odor was pungent, the sight unholy. With his sharp hearing, the beast-man heard a stifled curse from the eaves of a nearby tree, one likely brought about by fear and disgust; reflexively, he tossed the greatsword in its direction like an oversized boomerang. After a slight pause, he heard the sound of steel sliding into flesh and a loud _snap_.

Kiba revised his earlier thoughts. The vixen was far too skilled with illusions for her own good.

As the body of a ROOT operative fell to the earth, Kiba approached. The sword was lodged blade-first into the man's side, protruding from his opposite shoulder. He crouched over the corpse, whipping the blade out with a feral snarl. Brandishing the steel with an untamed strength, he spun to parry a calculated blow from another warrior who had entered the fray, apparently deciding that the beast-man was a less intimidating target.

It was to be the man's last mistake.

Kiba parried the man's strikes with long, sweeping blows of his own, the larger mass of his own blade deflecting his enemy's ninja-to with ease. He could smell poison on the blade; even a knick would prove fatal. This knowledge hardened him, sharpened his reflexes to a razor's edge. For an eternity, he was entirely consumed by their dance of blades. Dimly, he was aware of his surroundings – the shuffling gait of the Not-Krystals as they sought out their prey, the whisper of steel as the real vixen struck her targets; the mumbling of the woman who smelled like owls; the rasping breath of Naruto, as he lay beside the seer, caught in a realm of fevered delusions and half-dreams.

Suddenly, he felt the crushing weight of fatigue. A fog ensnared his senses, and beneath him, his legs twitched. The soldier pills – they were wearing off. The massive blade grew unbearably heavy in his hands. Still, he could not afford to show weakness. Not now, of all times, when his life and the life of his brother-in-arms were at stake.

"You'd better hurry up!" He snarled, as the seer chanted. She showed no indications of having heard him, something that spurred his rage to greater heights. _'Use it. Direct it. Channel it. Focus.'_

Sensing an opening, as Kiba was distracted by the seer, his opponent lunged forward, his sword poised to pierce the beast-man's heart.

However, it was not to be, as fate had other plans in mind.

Reflexively, Kiba raised his blade to block the strike – only for his opponent's nimble blade to slide through the hole in the center of his greatsword, the steel diverting the strike. Rather than penetrate his heart, the blade snapped upwards, angling for Kiba's unprotected face. The tip of the steel barely scraped his eye.

_'Use the anger. Use the pain.'_ The wild-man, blood seeping from the strike that bisected his left bad eye, snarled like a monster born from hellfire. Using the bulk of his greatsword as a lever, the wild-eyed warrior wrenched downwards – and snapped the enemy's sword cleanly in half, folded steel breaking like twigs in a tiger's path.

The ROOT operative stared dumbly at his own broken weapon for a moment, and as such was unprepared for the following strike that severed his head from his shoulders. His broken body collapsed to the earth like a sack of grain.

As the body fell, so too did Kiba, dropping to one knee, the Heart of Wave supporting him. He took a brief respite from combat, unable to bear the shaking in his limbs anymore.

Krystal was doing a fair job of holding off the advancing enemies – but, freed from the haze of combat, his finely tuned senses scanned the surroundings. Even with the vixen's aid, they were soon to be overrun. In the distance, he could hear the footfalls of approaching men, as well as the clanking of their weapons and heavier armor.

They would arrive in mere moments.

"To me!" Tsunami commanded, her cloak of downy feathers billowing in an unnatural wind. Kiba didn't hesitate. He drew the Heart of Wave from the earth once more – or at least, he tried to, but the blade slipped between his numb fingers. Grunting angrily, he heaved at the weapon, and managed to pull it from the earth; however, he was able to do little more than drag it, as his sword arm had completely given out.

One by one, the Not-Krystals were destroyed, the illusions fading. The real Krystal appeared next to him, looking slightly worse for wear, minor cuts along her exposed skin from close encounters with enemy blades. A knife was lodged in her shoulder as well, her lifeblood concealed by the checkered green and black of a flannel shirt, but the vixen did not appear to notice it, and moved with the swiftness of one unpained. He cast a begrudging look of respect in her direction.

As they ran towards the seer and her charge, the beast-man dared to take a glance back. He saw a small contingent of men – at least ten – emerge from the treeline. One of them gestured at the group, and with an explosion of movment, the men sprinted across the clearing in hot pursuit.

Kiba was a mere twenty feet from the seer; if they made it in one piece, it would be a close call. His cloaked pursuers moved with a grace that spoke of a lifetime of discipline and combat training. Fatigued as he was, he was moving with little more than a hastened stumble. In the haze of combat, he could only assume that ROOT's reinforcements had arrived. He cursed as one of them hefted another dagger – similar to the one lodged in Krystal's shoulder – and cast it, end over end, towards Tsunami's exposed heart. The woman stood still, eyes closed, as though unaware of the warzone that surrounded her.

"Move!" Kiba cried out. In a flurry of movement, driven more by instinct than anything else, Kiba grasped the vixen at his side. Her cry of surprise and pain was taken from her lungs, however, as Kiba leapt – massive sword in one arm, vixen in the other – into Tsunami, attempting to shield her from the blade's path with his own massive form.

Tsunami cast her hollow gaze skyward. Her downy cloak suddenly billowed around her, encompassing the forms of her companions within its protective embrace. The feathers took on a life of their own, becoming wings as hard as rock. The deadly knife bounced off of the cocoon of wings, falling harmlessly to the earth.

The soldiers heard a loud screech, like that of a barn owl, and a burst of intense wind forced them to look away for a brief moment, and cease their running; when their eyes opened, they were greeted with a sight that made their blood boil.

Their targets – gone. The demon was missing. Even his unholy energy couldn't be sensed. Nothing remained in the clearing but silence, and a light dusting of feathers across the snow-crusted earth.


End file.
